Crimson peak
by annasan1100
Summary: A horrifying joke shakes the castle of Hogwarts. Both Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger taste the cruel truth of what a sexual joke of this caliber means. Still it's worse for Hermione. As the resident bookworm and prude of the whole school people are bound to talk. Can people who thought they hate each other find justice together?
1. Prologue

**A/N: Enjoy the story. Happy birthday Emma!**

 **Please let me know what you think, I'd love to hear what you all think of this story. This is my first take on Blaise and Ginny as a couple. Updates once a month.**

 **Harry Potter does not belong to me, but to J.K. Rowling**

 **Summary**

Ginny Weasley always knew life wasn't fair. Her Father's career situation had proven that time after time, but she had never thought life was this ironically cruel. She certainly hadn't expected to wake up to a cruelly smirking Blaise Zabini. Oh, had she mentioned he was lying next to her, naked?

When a prank goes wrong, how far will you go to find out who did it? Sexual tension runs high and it seems that the Slytherins aren't the only ones with secrets

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oOo

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 _ **Prologue**_

 **S** oft light was filtering in through the small windows lining the left walls of the room. The room was small, perhaps she would have called it even cosy, had she been feeling quite all right, but the room was in a disarray. Furniture had been toppled over and an empty bottle lay on the floor, a large wet patch still drying on the carpet beneath it.

 _Their lips met hastily, tongues dancing to the tempo of the bass downstairs. Her fingers curled needily into his short cropped hair. She tasted the Firewhiskey on his tongue. The zip of her jeans and the popping sound the buttons made when she yanked his shirt open should have stirred her brain, but the madness was to strong._

Ginny's head was aching. Her head was aching rather badly actually. It felt like she had taken a Bludger to the head. Ginny rolled on her side, ignoring her spinning head and swallowed as her stomach rolled with her.

'What had happened?'

She sat up against the pillows and slowly opened her bleary, bloodshot caramel eyes. Her lips were dry and her head was aching so badly she needed to squeeze her eyes close in an attempt to stop the bile from rising.

She knew what a hangover felt like. She had once nicked a bottle of bourbon from a _supermarket_ , following Fred and George to an excluded spot near the Burrow, surrounded by thousands and thousands of tall daffodils. She remembered the distinct feel of the heat of the rock, on which she had been stretched out while they passed the bottle. Her brothers had been better at holding their liquor. She on the other hand, got stupidly drunk. She vaguely recalled proclaiming to them her undying love for Harry Potter. Only the idea could make her cheeks tinge pink.

Ginny opened her eyes again. Long strands of auburn hair dangled in front of her face and the sun rays were reflected of little specks of dust dangling in the room. An unfamiliar room. As panic began to rise, she kicked the too warm blankets off her chest and skidded off the bed, tumbling backward of the bed, into a heap on the floor.

"What are you doing?" a sleepy voice asked.

Ginny stiffened. Not from the voice, not at least she knew that voice, but from her clothes. Or should she say her lack of clothes. She scrambled to her feet, dragging the blankets off the bed and wrapping them around her naked torso, before turning towards the person — there had actually been a boy next to her in the bed — who'd spoken just seconds ago.

Blaise Zabini, fifth year Slytherin student was peeking at her through her long lashes. He had propped himself up on one arm and was smirking at her. Her breathing sped up when she finally noticed the stiffness between her legs.

She wasn't familiar with it, but she wasn't stupid either.

Hogwarts offered no lessons on sex education. Muggle schools actually did… She knew Hermione Granger had nagged about it for a complete evening, before Ginny had enough and escaped to the Quidditch pitch. Her mother always laughed embarrassedly whenever the subject sex came up, but there were books, magazines and gossip you could turn to whenever you were curious. That said, she knew what had happened.

A chair had been overturned, clothing was strewn about the room and an empty bottle of Ogdens finest lay on the carpet. She noticed her bra dangling from the doorknob and someone's underwear draped on the edge of another bed. A girl Ginny didn't recognised was strewn out onto a different bed, while a pale arm was thrown over her petite frame.

"What happened here?" she whispered, before prodding Zabini with her index finger. "What did you do?"

"I'd say that's somewhat obvious, princess." he drawled and she felt the fingers of her right hand curl into a fist while the need to hex the Italian boy into next Christmas.

"How— Why?" she asked, blinking as tears started to accumulate in her eyes. "Did you—" she couldn't find the words nor did she know what exactly she wanted to ask.

 _A heat, scorching and tingling, laced her bloodstream and she heard her own moan reverberate through the room. Strong hands moved to her hips and urged her legs, jeans puddled to the floor, to wrap around his hips._

"You're not thinking I drugged you do you?" he asked, the amused expression leaving his face. He slowly got up, unashamed of his nakedness. Ginny's eyes widened, she had never seen a boy — who wasn't family; and that had possibly been awkwardest moment of her life — naked before, and she felt her cheeks redden even further.

"Oh my God," she mumbled, turning around and hiding her face into her hands.

Bits and pieces of the night before flashed before her closed eyelids. How Zabini had stumbled into to the library celebrating his House's Quidditch victory with a bottle of Ogdens finest and how he dared her into taking a few sips — which ended up in a quarter of the bottle. She remembered how he had backed her against a bookcase and snogged her — definitely nothing like Seamus had done just a few weeks ago. How he had smuggled her into the Slytherin common room, although none of his house mates noticed as they were all _partying_ — and she meant that in a very sexual gravitating way — pulled her up the stairs into his room, hoisted her up against the wall, while folding her legs around his waist and—

"Oh My— Merlin—" she whispered, her breathing growing more laboured.

"Easy now, Weasley!" he told her, closing the distance between them, and catching her arm. "I didn't force you or anything— Although it is weird that I sought you out— and that you came with me, actually."

"You took advantage of my drunken state!" she accused, trying to wrench her arm free. His eyes narrowed, before pushing her back onto the bed. She struggled, the blankets falling off of her and she opened her mouth to scream. In a motion almost predatory, he pulled the blankets up to her chin and pressed his hand over her mouth. He was literally sitting on her hips and holding her torso down with one arm, while keeping her from screaming with the other.

"Stuff it!" he hissed, "Do you really want to wake Nott _or_ Parkinson up and been found out?"

Ginny's eyes widened. He waited for a moment, before slowly pulling his hands away and sitting up. "Good, can I get you something?" he asked, the perfect-gentleman-mask slipped on as if he hadn't slept with someone she was sure he viewed as a Blood-traitor. Refusing to entertain those thoughts she nodded.

"Do you have water?"

He smirked, before summoning a glass of the clear liquid. She accepted it.

"Isn't she Malfoy's girlfriend?" Ginny asked, gratefully bringing the glass of water to her lips, her eyes glancing back at the brunette on the other bed. She seemed to be sleeping soundly, cradling her own bottle of pure evil alcohol to her equally naked chest.

"I think Malfoy would sooner eat glass. He has tried to get rid of her fanning attention all year."

"What the hell happened here?" Ginny asked, her headache winning out from any panic attacks that would normally lace her bloodstream in such a situation. "Are you Slytherins into group orgies?"

Blaise Zabini shook his head. "No,"

For some reason that was not a surprise. She had already suspected it hadn't been normal. "Where's my wand?" she asked slowly.

He shook his head again. "I don't know."

There were voices downstairs. Ginny swallowed a new wave of nausea away and started to collect her clothes, slowly stepping into her jeans. When she turned to look at the Slytherin boy she noticed him staring. Her cheeks flushed darker than her hair and Ginny narrowed her eyes. "Don't look at me!" she hissed.

He smirked. "But there is so much to look at." he told her, "I want you to remember me fondly, this was your first time, wasn't it?"

She was on him in seconds her fist connecting with his cheek and her knee pressing against his stomach. "You are an arsehole!" she cried, and Zabini seemed so surprised she was able to hit him a few times more, before he caught her wrists and toppled them over. Pressing her arms against the mattress and immobilising her lower body by sitting on her hips he glowered.

"You will not do that again!" he hissed, stressing every word.

"Get off me!" she cried again, bucking against him, but not even managing to lift him an inch.

"Like hell I will," he snapped back, tightening his grip on her wrist. "Listen, and listen carefully."

She jutted her jaw out into an aggressive gesture, but did nod. She did nod, if only to give him the false pretence that she would listen. He exhaled loudly, pulling her wrists above her head, and grabbing them in one hand. Ginny's eyes widened and she started to struggle again.

"Stop it," he hissed again. "Listen, I don't know what happened! I drunk so much, I don't even know how we ended in the same bed, although I vaguely remember pushing you against the wall and ravaging you, but hell if I know why… So can you please _finally_ calm down so that I can get a sober-up-potion? For fuck sake, it feels like a bunch of hippogriffs are rampaging through my head…"

"Uch," a female voice moaned and both Zabini and Ginny stiffened. "Who is being so loud so early in the morning?"

Pansy Parkinson, her hair in an absolute disarray sat up slowly. Her dark hair framed her face while her eyes looked red-rimmed and her lipstick was smeared from her lips on her chin. She blinked lazily against the sunlight, and then her eyes widened.

"What am I doing here?" she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper and her eyes widening comically. Ginny momentarily forgot she was being pressed to an unfamiliar — 'not that unfamiliar' the voice in her head muttered — bed by a very hostile very tall Slytherin, and watched with something akin to morbid fascination as Pansy Parkinson glanced down at her naked body. "I'm naked." she glanced at the boy behind her over her shoulder. "Theodore!" she cried, falling backwards off the bed in a fashion much like how Ginny had discovered her surroundings.

Theodore Nott, pale and weedy looking slowly sat up. He was as pale as a sheet and he slowly lifted the covers looking at— well Ginny could imagine what he looked at, and letting them fall back over his thighs and dropped back onto his back without a word.

"That's it?" Pansy yelled grabbing someone's school-robe, and wrapping it around herself. "What did you put into my drink?" she hissed accusingly and Ginny frowned. "I would never even look at you, what did you put into my drink?" she cried a little bit louder.

"Nothing," Nott whispered, "My father is going to murder me," he muttered to himself.

Parkinson's ears turned red and she started to frantically look around for something. "I'm going to hex you into—." her eyes fell upon Ginny. "Oh, for Circle's sake, Blaise, you too?" she cried, her eyes widening when she noticed their position. "You've forced yourself on the She-Weasel?" Pansy shrieked. Nott shivered and Ginny grimaced.

"What?" Blaise Zabini snapped, "No, why would you even think so?"

She gave him a look as if saying; 'really?', before swiftly slipping into a lime-green robe. "Get off her, you wanker!"

Ginny breathed in gratefully as Zabini jumped off the bed and stalked towards the pug-faced girl. "You and I both know I don't need to force myself on a girl." he told her threateningly, "And I would never go after a Blood-traitor, something is wrong with the booze!"

"Well, thank you!" Ginny snapped angrily, inhaling slowly as her stomach lurched. "Oh, my God," she whispered, hanging her head between her legs.

"Oh, I'm sorry, would you normally look twice at me?" Zabini asked sarcastically, completely oblivious to her nausea. "Because I don't think you would. Nott, get the fuck out of the bed, we need to figure this out, where are the others?"

Theodore Nott, slowly sat up again, wrapped the blankets around him and disappeared into the bathroom. They heard the toilet flush a few times as he made heaving noises. Parkinson slumped down onto the floor and grabbed the bottle, glaring at it.

"Do you really think this caused it all?" she asked slowly, Ginny glanced through the gaps of her fingers at the other girl. She had to stay calm. She couldn't panic now, if her brothers found out she slept with a Slytherin, a bigoted Slytherin at that, she would never hear the end of it. Ginny blinked against the hot stinging tears. No matter how much she wanted this to disappear, she couldn't deny the truth. She had slept with Zabini and, try as she might, she had enjoyed it. Ginny peeked slowly at the tall Italian boy. She couldn't deny that the Slytherin boy was extremely good looking. And — that was the problem — he knew it. It hadn't mattered to Ginny though, she had always been enamoured with Harry Potter.

That said, that didn't mean she had shied away from all sexual matters. She had had boyfriends before after all, but she had never gone all the way. It was like her mother always said; she was too young and she hadn't been able to find the right one… Or the right one hadn't been able to see her as of yet.

Zabini seemed to finally realise he was still naked and slowly put on some trousers. Ginny felt her cheeks redden again. His shoulders were broad — nothing like Ronald's dangly form — and he was almost as tall as Fred and George — almost the keyword. She swallowed as she felt a tingle of heat travel through her. Her mouth felt suddenly dry and she fisted the beddings into her hands.

Zabini stared at her through half-lidded eyes, his eyes darkening considerably and Ginny tried to swallow. The door of the bathroom opened again and Theodore Nott appeared. He, thankfully was now fully dressed and was holding a wand. She was broken out of her strange trance and shook her head.

"I found this," Nott muttered awkwardly. "Who's is it?"

Ginny could have cried. She could have kissed him. That was her wand! She jumped to her feet and almost ran up to the pale boy. He looked at her as if she would jump him — it might have crossed her mind, he looked awfully endearing with that doe look on his face.

She stiffened, her cheeks reddening from her own thoughts. Her mind reeled and her exhaled slowly. "Can I have it back, please?" she asked slowly.

Theodore Nott nodded, dropping it above her extended hand, making absolutely sure not to touch her. He straightened up, leaning forward suddenly and tugged the bottle out of Parkinson's hand. "Blaise, do you really think there was something wrong with Draco's booze?"

"Draco would never—" Parkinson started, only to be interrupted by the door slamming open.

Severus Snape, head of Slytherin House stood in the door opening. His black, beady eyes flitted around the room, narrowing as he noticed Ginny and his face paled when he noticed the bottle in Nott's hand.

"All of you get to the Common room!" he hissed lowly. "You too, Miss Weasley!"

Ginny stiffened, her eyebrows furrowing and her knuckles turned white. "But Professor—"

The look he gave her was so dark, she hurried out of the room, hiding behind Zabini and Nott when they entered a dimly lit circular room and crossed her arms over her chest. Slytherin students; mostly fourteen year and above, a few Ravenclaw students; barely dressed and looking around the room as if someone would jump them, and in a far corner next to a window which looked out into the lake stood a group of Hufflepuffs huddling together.

"What the bloody hell happened here?" she asked softly.

 _To be continued…_

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 **A/N: Here is the first chapter (the prologue) of this story. This is mostly dedicated to my best friend, who wanted a BlaiseXGinny story. So I hope you'll like this (and stop nagging me). Chapter updates will be once a month.**

 **Please comment and let me know what you all thought. I'd love to hear everyone's thoughts.**

 **Harry Potter does not belong to me, but to J.K. Rowling.**


	2. Chapter 1, Love Potion

Chapter one, Love Potion

 **G** inevra Molly Weasley walked down the empty hallways, arms wrapped around her waist and her breathing laboured. She was feeling sick to her stomach and as she slowly ascended the stairs she thought she was going to be sick. Ginny wasn't sure if it was the knowledge she had slept with a boy who was a cold-hearted, haughty, inbred, good-for-nothing bigot (he might be less pompous, he made up for it for not _only_ insulting other students; he actually went out of his way to emotionally hurt them), or the potion Professor Snape provided to everyone.

As another wave of nausea travelled through her she slumped down onto the steps. Her heart had always belonged to Harry and even though she had followed Hermione's advice to date other boys and give the boy who lived some space, that hadn't meant she had been able to give herself entirely to Michael. The tears she had been so desperately to hide, ran down her cheeks and her lips parted as quiet sobs escaped them.

"Oh, my God," she whispered, "oh, my God!"

She rocked herself on the balls of her feet, her fingers fisting in the red tendrils of her had never in her life thought cold-hearted Blaise Zabini would glance at her with a look beyond disgust. She never had deigned him with a look beyond disgust anyway. He was an arrogant, womanising Slytherin, but apparently her emotions had — like they had so many times before — completely clouded her judgment and she had taken his dare.

He had strolled into the library, claiming he needed a bit of fresh air, but looking back at it, she supposed he might actually have looked around for her and challenged her. Challenged her to drink from his bottle. Challenged her to take a sip of the spiked — or drugged — bottle of Ogdens finest. She had complied. And it had been a big mistake.

Someone, Professor Snape didn't know who — but the murderous look he sported made it clear he would find out —, had drugged all the bottles of spirits in the fifth year boys' dorm room. Or more accurately, someone had spiked Draco Malfoy's hidden stash of alcohol. The stash he smuggled into Hogwarts, belonging to his father, so the teenagers could built a party.

Malfoy and his patronising smirks and cold eyes hadn't been there though. Apparently he was nursing one of his fucking bottles somewhere else and he had yet to be found. Even though she practically hated everything Slytherin and she would love for any reason to kick Malfoy where it hurt most, she didn't really think he was the one who'd drugged his own bottles. It didn't make sense if he had.

She squeezed her eyes shut, the coldness of the stone step A Potion like that, a controversial lust potion at that, not so many people could make it. According to Snape half of the ingredients were illegal and the recipe was only accessible when you had a written consent from a teacher for the restricted section of the library.

Ginny choked on a sob, that was half a bitter laugh, half an angry yell and slammed her fist against the wall. The tingling sensation of pain a welcoming sensation, so she did it again.

Headmaster Dumbledore had come to the Dungeons as well. His eyes wide and his face ashen. The students all had to promise not to tell anyone. Ginny realised he wanted to keep it silent. Or at least, didn't want the whole student-body to know. For now the teachers were still looking for the other students effected. She was supposed to return to the Common room. Supposed to sleep last night off and tell the others she was sick, but she didn't want to return to the common room.

Didn't want to face her brothers, her friends and most of all, she didn't want to face Harry.

No, she could not confront her friends and family right now. She needed some time for herself, away from her gossiping roommates and she knew exactly the place. She scrambled to her feet and continued ascending the stairs. She reached the end of the seventh floor corridor in a record time, climbing the stairwells silently and averted her eyes when she passed the many talking portraits that decorated the halls.

She turned into the left corridor stopping before the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy teaching a group of trolls how to do ballet. Raking a nervous-shaking hand through her hair, Ginny walked past the opposite wall tree times.

' _I need a place to escape from school, I need a place to escape from school!'_

A door appeared and Ginny made a grumbling sort of sound. She rubbed her forehead in frustration, and was about to open the door when a sound caught her off guard. Ginny listened at the door, waiting for any other sound beyond. When she heard nothing for several seconds, she reached for the knob, pausing when she felt a chill rung through her. She shuddered, frowning. Slowly, ginny twisted the doorknob, opening the door slightly.

"Drop the sheet, Granger!" a voice demanded and her mouth dropped when she recognised it as Malfoy's voice. "Drop it, I mean it."

"I don't care what you mean," Hermione Granger's voice answered, Ginny stood rooted to the spot. The door slightly ajar and the voices filtering into the seventh floor corridor.

Ginny shook her head, before opening the door fully. Draco Malfoy — who else had such distinct blond hair —, half naked, although he could be fully naked, but his buttocks were obstructed from view by a large kingsized bed, had backed Hermione Granger (a pale white sheet wrapped around her body) up against the wall.

Ginny's first instinct was to go for her wand, but just as her fingers curled around her wand, Hermione smiled, dropping the sheet and giggled. She giggled — actually giggled — before reaching up and kissing the blond-haired boy. Ginny opened and closed her mouth and shook her head. In the last twenty-four hours she'd seen more naked chests (and backs) than she had ever seen in the last fifteen years and that said something when you used to live with six brothers.

If she hadn't known them, Ginny would have thought she was looking at a couple, very much in need of a room (beside the point that technically they had one). Ginny's eyes narrowed, when Malfoy's hands smoothed down Hermione's chest. She contemplated her options; one she could stomp into the room and stop the petite bushy-haired girl getting— laid (and very possible getting hexed for the efforts), or she could back out of the room get a teacher (preferable McGonagall) and let the teacher sort them out.

Ginny frowned; plan 'A' wasn't really an option, as Hermione was rather good with nasty curses and she rather not be the one getting in between those two (Malfoy had tucked his hands under Hermione's thighs and she had responded by wrapping her legs around his waist), she slowly started to close the door again. However, she was never the most cautious of people. And because she wasn't one of the most cautious people she tripped over her own feet and fell back on her back with a loud cry.

Ginny heard them stumble into the room and a second later they both appeared into the door opening. Malfoy had thankfully pulled on some trouwers and Hermione Granger wore a green button-up which Ginny knew wasn't hers.

"Ginny!" Hermione gasped, face turning pink and her eyes widened.

"Er, hi, Hermione." Ginny greeted sheepishly.

"Hi?" Malfoy echoed, disbelievingly looking Ginny up and down.

Ginny swallowed and smiled tightly. They were both out of breath, flushed and wide-eyed. For once Malfoy had nothing rude to say to her and Ginny stared back at them with an uneasy smile. "Uhm, everyone is looking for you, you know." Ginny said, glancing to Malfoy, before getting to her feet.

Malfoy frowned, before twirling a lock of Hermione's dark hair around his fingers. "I'm sure it can wait, Weasley, you're really out of luck here, I say you have to find a different room to bunk with Potter."

"Draco!" Hermione scolded, but she still smiled up at him. She took his hand and squeezed lovingly. Ginny felt slightly sick seeing the loving gesture, before sitting up.

"Listen, you both are drugged." Ginny explained, swiftly getting up to her feet. She didn't want to be the one to bring it to them, but she had to. Especially since she couldn't very well back out now and get a teacher. She grumbled, as the older students slowly let her inside. She certainly didn't want to be the one who had to carry this rather wearisome task.

She rubbed her forehead in frustration. Why _him_ , Why _her_? Why did _she_ have to bring it to them?

The room of requirement had taken the shape of a beautiful bedroom. A big bedroom at that. It was furnished with a small desk, a large four-poster bed with the remnants of an embroidered orange cover (she could take a good guess of what they had done on it), with a soft rug covering the floor. Ginny sat down onto the wooden chair next to the desk and tried to swallow the bile when she noticed the two empty bottles; one on the light wooden-nightstand and one on the floor.

"We need to find Professor Snape," Ginny explained, waiting for Draco Malfoy to make one of his rude remarks. He stayed silent, his eyes glassy and unfocused; it was as if he wasn't really hearing her.

"Do you two get what I am saying?" she asked, "The booze was spiked. Drugged. Someone put love potion in it."

"We know," Hermione admitted, fingering Draco Malfoy's shoulder. Malfoy's right hand rested on Hermione thigh. It was so weird, seeing Hermione lower her hand down his arm and slowly start tracing figures on the back of Malfoy's hand.

"What do you mean ' _we'_ know?" Ginny asked, her voice rising a few octaves.

"Draco said it tasted funny." Hermione explained. "And it's still in our system, so we thought—"

"Why not find a teacher?" Ginny asked, not sure if she wanted to scream at them or not.

"Because no one can know," Malfoy commented, turning to Hermione. "She can always join us. I certainly don't think she's going to leave" he sarcastically drawled.

"Oh, thank Merlin," Ginny cried, "Your nasty, crude self is still there. I was already afraid it was completely gone."

Malfoy barely reacted to that and Ginny didn't understand. Although her memories of her— _encounter_ were hazy and she recognised the almost uncontrollable need, it had been very much dormant when she woke up this morning.

She glanced at the empty bottles and felt her stomach tighten. "Hermione, when was the last time you had a drink from one of those bottles?" she asked, her voice high-pitched and her cheeks tinting pink. "About an hour ago, go away Weasley." Malfoy answered, suddenly leaning towards her, his mouth tilting to catch Hermione's and Ginny felt her mouth fall open. They had no shame. No shame at all. His hand languidly traced up Hermione's stomach, cupping her breast and Ginny jumped to her feet, before turning around and practically running towards the door.

"Right, I'm going." she told the couple in a tight voice, before scurrying out of the room.

"Sure, Gin," Hermione muttered absentmindedly, as the blond Slytherin started to nip her neck. Ginny's face turned scarlet.

She tripped over the same jagged stone on the floor as she had half an hour ago and slammed down into the hard stone floor. Calming her ragged breathing, she momentarily stayed still where she was, unsure what she was supposed to do. Obviously, Malfoy and Hermione were still in the throws of that fucking Love potion and she was relatively sure her mother had once told her you shouldn't interfere with people under a Love potion, because it ensured violence.

"Bloody hell," she grumbled.

"Now, now, now," the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy said, "those words are unbecoming of a lady!" he scolded her and Ginny groaned. Of all the portraits, it had to be the most annoying of them all.

Ginny slowly sat up against the wall, her caramel eyes wide and shocked; "Well, I'm not very good at being a lady, anyway." she told him matter-of-factly.

She backed away, slowly. Her original plan of finding a teacher seemed once again her best option and she set out to find her Head of House. At least Minerva McGonagall was — although strict — trustworthy and fair. Just the combination Ginny needed and most of all the combination she wanted.

"Miss Weasley," Professor McGonagall greeted her, when she found the older woman. "What can I do for you?"

Ginny's cheeks were still crimson and her breath was coming in loud laboured pants. McGonagall's eyebrows rose in worry. "Miss Weasley?"

Ginny felt her face heat up and rubbed her hands together. "Have you heard of the _problems_ with the Slytherins last morning?" she started, certainly she knew didn't she.

Professor McGonagall turned a mottled shade of red, looking as embarrassed by the question as Ginny felt. "Ah, yes, Albus told me." she muttered, before glancing at the youngest Weasley. "I'm sure everyone would understand if I contacted your mother, dear, no need to talk to me about…"

"Oh, I— No!" Ginny stammered. Her mother was the last person on earth to whom she'd tell about her very embarrassing, very pleasa— horrifying first time. "I— Well, Professor Snape mentioned Malfoy missing and—"

"You know where Mister Malfoy is?"

"Yes," Ginny nodded, "Yes, I know where he is, where he has been and with whom he spent the evening, night and all of the morning.

"He's with someone?" Professor McGonagall summarised, realising why Ginny Weasley came to her office.

"Yeah, and the potion is very potent." Ginny muttered.

Professor McGonagall drew in a sharp gasp of shock, before letting Ginny lead the way to the seventh-floor. Professor McGonagall pretended to buy Ginny's silly excuse what the room was for ('whenever your bedroom doesn't suffice,' she'd mumbled and McGonagall had nodded in response), and promised not to tell anyone about it. They arrived at the seventh-floor corridor with the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy — Barnabas bowed low when he noticed Ginny's head of House — and Ginny walked past the wall three times. When the door appeared, she wished her head of house good luck and bolted.

"MISTER MALFOY, MISS GRANGER?" Professor McGonagall cried, and Ginny started to swiftly climb the stairs. "WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?"

Ginny did her best not to roll her eyes at that. What did she think they were doing, Ginny quickened her step and took the stairs in two steps at a time. She returned red-faced towards her Common room. On second thought; her loud roommates sounded wonderful to be around right now.

o.O.o

Ginny managed to distract herself somewhat from the unwilling quilt that had settled into her stomach that evening. She felt bad. She had tattled on her brother's best friend; had basically betrayed said friend and now she only had to wait for Hermione Granger to react.

She wasn't looking forward to it.

It was a slightly subdued scene that Monday morning and even though it was supposed to stay a secret what had happened into the Slytherin dungeons was by now common knowledge. The other students might not have known who partnered up with who, but that didn't stop the most impressive structure Hogwarts had; the rumour mill. For now, Ginny was glad, she wasn't linked to the events, but she wondered if she truly cold stay out of it. Too many people knew about her involvement.

More than half of the Slytherins had forgone breakfast. In shame in favour of a few extra hours of sleep, no one really knew. The ones who had dared to come to breakfast that morning were vastly ridiculed. Malfoy wasn't there, nor was Hermione Granger present at the Great Hall, and Ginny frowned.

The younger Slytherins didn't seem to understand what was going on. They were being ridiculed, that much was obvious, but the hadn't had any part in the drinking games that had been held on Saturday, and they certainly hadn't sneaked girls up to their rooms — after all girls weren't capable to sneak boys up _their_ rooms — only to be discovered by their Head of House.

Ginny felt conflicted. Just like the rest of the school she thought they had it coming, but on the other hand she had experienced first-hand what that _prank_ did to someone. All common sense had left her and she had pretty much jumped Zabini after fighting for a minute against the strange compulsion that had driven her to him.

"—you heard?" Parvati whispered, Ginny's ears perked up.

"What?" Lizzy, one of Ginny's roommates and her friend, said. When the news had spread through Gryffindor tower Lavender Brown had been the one who'd gone out to _investigate_. Ginny was pretty sure Lavender had not gone to bed as yet and was relying on an almost lethal sugar dose to get through the day (Lavender had added half the sugar pot into her cup tea that morning).

"They found Malfoy last night." Parvati whispered and Lavender, seated to Parvati's right nodded — before adding another sugar to her tea — and smirked. Ginny's mouth went dry.

"Apparantly he was drugged too." Lavender told them. "He had the highest dose, pure luck or should I say 'unluck', and Hanna Albott saw him being dragged off yesterday by McGonagall, when she did her rounds. She's a prefect you know?"

Lizzy nodded eagerly and Ginny ducked her head behind a jug of water. "Yes, I know. Was he with someone?"

"Are you kidding me?" Parvati asked, before Lavender could get another word out. "Yes, he was with someone, with the amount of potion he had in his system there was no way he wouldn't be with someone."

"Who?"

"Hermione Granger, our resident bookworm." Parvati told the girls gleefully. Ginny's fingers tightened around her fork.

"You serious?" Lizzy answered, staring at Lavender Brown as if she'd never really seen her. Ginny felt her shoulders stiffen and stabbed her sausage with her fork.

"Well, do you see any of them?" Lavender whispered conspiringly. "Apparently, he went to post a letter into the owlery and there was Hermione as well. How he got her to drink something is beyond me, but well, I don't need to draw a picture by what they did, do I?"

"Well," Parvati commented, "When you get past the glaring and the sneering, he's rather handsome."

Ginny snorted. "On what planet?" Well, he had a nice chest; Ginny turned red.

"My mother says it's a defence mechanism." Lizzy announced, glancing at the still empty Slytherin table.

"Well, your mother is insane," Lavender chuckled. "But I suppose he isn't ugly on the outside, I can admit that."

"Do Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley know that? I mean she is their best friend!" Lizzy asked, and Ginny's eyes flitted over the students around the Gryffindor table. That was a good question.

Her brother with their flaming red hair were easily recognisable. Fred and George were both looking at some book, grinning from ear-to-ear and she heard them mutter, even from her seat, about something causing the gag reflex.

Ron Weasley, the youngest son of the Weasley family and her most stubborn brother of all of them, was seated at the other end of the table. His face was pale, almost ashen, and he was chewing quickly on a piece of toast. Ginny rolled her eyes; absolutely nothing kept that boy from his food, did it?

Harry Potter, his eyes were so green— so divine so— 'No, focus, Ginny!'

She shook her head, glancing over her shoulder towards the Slytherin table, before back at Harry again. He appeared tired and withdrawn, his hair even more tousled than usual. Ginny didn't know what he was discussing with her brother — she had a good idea, though —, but as Ron explained something, Harry slumped down onto the table, catching his head on his forearms.

Ginny felt her heart squeeze. This was her fault; she had tattled on Hermione and Malfoy. She had to, but she hadn't really felt bad till now. A jealous little voice whispered to her. She had always envied Hermione Granger and there might have been a part who had been thrilled she had found something on the other girl, but now.

She slowly got up from her seat and slowly, ever so slowly, walked towards Harry and Ron. When she got closer she noticed the bags under Ron's eyes and his mouth was drawn back into a tight line.

"— can't believe it—" Ron whispered, rubbing his eyes. "I mean why couldn't he just have, I don't know performance anxiety, like every normal guy on their first time—"

"Who says it was _his_ first time," Harry mumbled, groaning loudly, "He had Parkinson hanging on his arms for God knows how long…"

"That's not how Pure-blood marriages work." Ron muttered, "Fooling around, yeah sure. Snogging in darkened cupboard, fine, frowned upon, but fine, but shagging when you're still in school? No!"

"Well, the drinking didn't help of course,"

Harry's head shot up and Ginny gasped, when Luna Lovegood, her dirty blonde hair pulled up in a ponytail — bound together by an onion string — and her protuberant eyes dreamily.

"The alcohol doesn't go well with Ashwinder eggs, it strengthens the potency of the love potion, and it affects the male anatomy, heating the blood, and with that they get an—"

"Luna!"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Please," he muttered, glancing over his arm. His face was flushed red and his fingers curled into a fist. "I get it, stop talking about it. I really don't want to hear about Malfoy's— anything!"

"Oh, but it's a natural reaction, you now." she added, fingering her cork necklace. "The nargels could have been involved too, they're quite known for making people act odd." she smiled, before glancing at Ginny. "Are you all right, Ginny?"

Ginny felt her face flush, "Why are there nargles around my head?"

"Only a few, but I've heard about what happened to you and—" she started, only to be rudely interrupted.

" _What_ happened to her?" Ron demanded, slamming his hand onto the table. His glass pumpkin juice toppled over. Ginny shook her head from side to side and mouthed 'no' to the blonde girl, before snatching a napkin from under Harry's hand and slapped her brother with it.

"Clean up the mess, you idiot." she snapped, Ron reluctantly picked up the napkin and dabbed at the liquid. "Nothing happened, come on Luna, we've got classes to attend to."

Luna nodded slowly, her eyes dreamy and her eyes flitting curiously between Ginny and her brother. Ginny nodded to both boys, she even managed to pat Harry consolingly on his shoulder — but even that didn't manage to make her feel good — before following Luna out of the Great Hall. Her eyes were glued to the other girl's back; 'She knew!'

 _To be continued…_

 **A/N: So I put Ginny Weasley's birthday at nineteen November, because I like that age for sexual intercourse** _ **better**_ **(although still very young, but all right). I've googled the presumable date. The date was said to be elven August, but her birthday was never mentioned during any of the books, so I decided it wouldn't be a problem if I Thereby, Scorpion fits Ginny really well; they're strong-willed (stubborn), jealous, sometimes violent but sharp emotional, sexy, reliable and so on. I believe this really fits for her, so scorpion it is.**

 **How many of you have a good idea who pulled the** _ **prank**_ **? I'm quite curious who you all think has done it.**

 **Harry Potter doesn't belong to me, but to J.K. Rowling.**

 **I've got a review on the pairing of Hermione and Draco and if I would consider it; consider it done^^, but I will include Ginny's POV as well. Enjoy^^**


	3. Chapter 2, Double-crossed

_**Chapter Two, double-crossed**_

 **C** old rain washed down over the castle, painting the scenery with patterns like a painting from the Modernism movement. Hermione Granger was for a lack of a better word furious. Her best friends; Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, had been avoiding her like the plagues. Hermione suspected that was mostly due to Harry because Ron had no common sense and tact wasn't one of his virtues either.

She closed her eyes and exhaled through her nose slowly. Life had a tendency of throwing you into sticky obstacles when you least expected them. One year ago, she had been happily on cloud nine with Victor Krum as her date to the Yule Ball. Even if there had been an evil plot against Harry, she had found the year enjoyable. This year hadn't started off too bad either when she got the extra responsibilities that came with being a Prefect, but when she met Dolores Umbridge even those responsibilities couldn't keep her mind off the unfairness the woman introduced.

Her fingernails bit into the sensitive skin of her palms, and exhaled loudly again.

Hermione knew it wasn't right to hate anyone, much less one of her best friends, but when she noticed Ginny Weasley pass her on the second floor corridor, it took every ounce of self-control to not stop her and let her serve detention with Filch for breathing too loud, or for the sin of existing.

Hermione knew there was no rule against someone existing, but she didn't care. She curled her fingers into a fist and let her eyes wander through the classroom. Ron and Harry were both pretending to do their reading while passing a game of Tic-tac-toe. So now and then their eyes would flit towards her, but when she glared back they would immediately glance away.

Hermione crossed her ankles, glaring at Dolores Umbridge. The woman wore her usual fluffy pink guardian and her Mouse brown bob seemed slightly tousled. Hermione had long ago stopped bothering to do anything in this class, as it was rather pointless. The only thing they ever did was reading chapters from their textbook.

Only two days ago, she had been sure the worst thing that could happen was failing her OWL's, but now she wasn't so sure. Instead of going to the Common room as she should have done, she decided to take a book out from the Hogwarts library and sent her parents a letter. She had been halfway up the circular stairs towards the Owl Tower when Draco Malfoy had appeared in the door-opening.

He took one look at her — and Hermione had been bracing herself for his taunting remarks — before grabbing her roughly by her upper-arms and proceeded in shoving her up against the wall. She hadn't noticed the expensive bottle of Ogdens finest and had been nothing short of absolutely baffled when he pressed his lips against hers.

He had been good at snogging. That must have been the only reason why she forgot all concept of morals and time. She hadn't expected him to snog her at all. Malfoy didn't corner unsuspecting Muggle-borns, and then kissing them afterwards.

He didn't share his expensive whisky with them and he certainly didn't suggest they would go somewhere privet — or had she suggested that when he had started to rub teasing circles around her nipple.

Looking back at their brief jaunt through the school had been nothing less than embarrassing; the portraits had obviously found it very amusing and had deducted them to be lovers, before carrying on with whatever real-life moving portraits did.

She had barely dragged him into the room of requirements, before he had crushed his mouth against hers, claiming her lips with firm, possessive movements. He had drawn her in, pushed her up onto the desk, into the corner of the room that had materialised before her very eyes, and she had responded by hooking her legs around his hips, personally locking their pelvic bones together. It had felt like they were two corresponding jigsaw pieces. It had felt right and thrilling and she had felt _him_ then and it had gone downwards from there.

Harry and Ron were looking at her again. They were not exactly secretive. Hermione glanced pointedly at her text. How would they ever understand? She hadn't been forced, Malfoy hadn't dragged her into an abandoned classroom kicking and screaming. He hadn't even blackmailed her into anything; she had just been careless.

And then Ginny had stumbled upon them. She wasn't sure how many times she had let Malfoy— and they were at it again. Ginny had looked as if she'd seen water burning and left the room swiftly again; stumbling over her words falling over her own feet. Hermione remembered how Malfoy had laughed, before nibbling at her collarbone. He had been kissing the underside of her ribcage when Professor McGonagall stalked in.

"She's scowling again," Ron whispered.

"Shh, Ron, you don't want to agonise her, do you?" Harry answered.

"You two do realise _she_ can hear you, don't you?" she hissed sarcastically. "Could you please stop treating me like a mangled child?"

"I—" Harry started, his voice barely above a whisper, but before he could say anything more, someone poked a finger in Hermione's back.

"So you really were found in a classroom with Draco Malfoy, Granger?" a Hufflepuff girl whispered, "Is it really true?"

Several students turned their sleepy eyes towards her. Hermione felt her face flush and she had to actually swallow the anger that was rising. From the front of the classroom, Dolores Umbridge smirked, before pretending as if one of her students wasn't singled out.

Hermione's lower lip wobbled when Lavender told Parvati with a high-pitched shriek that the little swot — of which Hermione knew Lavender meant her — didn't know how to keep her legs closed. Lavender and Hermione had never gotten on. The other girl had never forgiven Hermione for pointing out that Professor Trelawney's prophecy about Lavender's pet rabbit was false.

She noticed Lavender bat her eyes at Ron, who looked immediately flustered and Hermione rubbed furiously at her face. As Ron started to turn red, Hermione's breathing quickened and tears started to drip down her flushed cheeks, she scraped her chair back noisily and quickly left the classroom — completely ignoring Umbridge's cries that she was to come back right that instant— and stalked out of the corridors.

She rounded a corridor, wiping aggressively at her eyes, only to collide painfully with Draco Malfoy. Her bag hit the floor sending books and parchment flying and she staggered. If wasn't for his arm stabilising her, she would have landed on her bum.

"What the hell, Granger?" he asked, and Hermione was aware that her cheeks were darkly flushed.

"I—" she stammered; flushing even more. What had happened? She was good with words.

Malfoy smirked — or more accurately tried to — and slowly stepped back from her. His eyes travelled from her dishevelled appearance to her red-rimmed eyes. He sighed slowly. "What's wrong?"

Her eyes widened. "You're asking me what's wrong?"

"Yes, I was there," he drawled, "I know I've asked you what's wrong."

The smallest of smiles quirked her lips and she wiped at her eyes again. "People lack so much, I don't even know where to begin," she whispered. "My House isn't exactly supportive."

"Hm,"

Hermione looked up at him again. His jaw was slightly bruised and although he had done a good job on the concealment charm, he had failed miserably on the skin colour. "Are you—" she started, before pointing her index finger at her chin, "— all right?"

"Let's say we have similar problems."

"And someone _hit_ you?" she checked.

Malfoy frowned. "Crabbe thought he should make a point that if I liked _Muggles_ so much, I was sorted into the wrong House," he told her shrugging coldly. "I might not have helped by telling the thick oaf that _he_ and Goyle were the ones acting like Muggles."

"I see,"

"Do you really?"

Hermione frowned, glancing up at his jaw again. Except the bruise he seemed to be rather unhurt. Her frown deepened. "You seem to have gotten off lucky. I'd always thought those two knew how to draw a punch."

"Oh, that they do, but their academics is shite." Malfoy dryly retorted, leaning back against the grey cinderblock wall.

"You _hexed_ them?"

"You thought me to be above hexing my peers, Granger?" he asked, looking amused now.

She waited for him to sneer, but he didn't. He stayed eerily calm, and once again she felt horrified. Even Malfoy thought she was too pathetic to even bother to pretend normality for. 'That or he was as embarrassed about the situation as she was.' a small voice whispered.

Perhaps he didn't see the good at sneering at her, after all, they had done Saturday night and Sunday morning. She certainly didn't see the point to be uncivil. Perhaps if her friends hadn't been so unsupportive she might even see the irony of it all. Or perhaps not the irony… It might actually be highly confusing for him. He did, after all, think he was superior to her and now he had to come to terms with _lowering_ himself to her level. A bit of an identity struggle.

"I can see the wheels turning, Granger." he noted simply.

She looked at him, her brown eyes seeking out his grey. He seemed so collected right then as if he was choosing to let only one emotion past the dam he'd built and wasn't experiencing all at once instead. Hermione felt a stab of envy run through her. "How are you so unaffected?"

"You— what?" he asked surprised.

"You're— I don't know, you act like it is nothing. You act like we didn't— Well, no, actually you do act differently and—" she groaned, dropping her head into her hands. Her eyes stung again

He sneered, before raking a hand through his hair. He crossed his arms over his chest and made a clucking sound with his tongue. "A bit pointless to get hysterical."

"Is that why you don't call me a Mudblood now?"

"I call you Mudblood to rile you up. To rile your boy-toys up." Malfoy answered her blankly, "Like I said a bit pointless now."

Hermione chuckled softly. She must be going mad.

"Want to have a drink?" he asked dryly and Hermione's eyes went wide. "You're not serious! You can't be serious!"

"The gossip mill would probably have a field trip if we did," he said grinning. "I have half the mind to bring another bottle up. It would be a nice end of the story."

"I have half the mind of hitting you!" she huffed, as she felt the first genuine laugh of the day escape her lips. "You can be so vile," she grinned.

"One should live once in a while," he told her, before winking. Hermione couldn't remember a moment she ever had a polite conversation with him. It was rather strange and she smiled at the strangeness of this all.

"I take it Weasley didn't take the news too well either?" Malfoy asked suddenly.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. That had been an understatement. When she returned to the Common room last evening, bleary-eyed and as pale as a sheet, Ron and Harry had been waiting for her. At first, she had been pleased to see them. She needed to talk to someone about all that had happened, but then she'd realised Ron had actually been angry. He had been rather gross as well, telling her she just made the biggest fuck up of her young life (he was even cruder, but she refused to repeat his words, even in her head). The fight that had followed had frightened many younger years and had chased away almost all of the Common room's occupants. Harry just stood at the side, wide-eyed and worried, but didn't interfere. He never really interfered; he liked to stay impartial and only interrupted when Ron's insults became too much.

"—you know that I," Malfoy said and she had to concentrate on his lips to stop herself from bursting into tears once again. "there isn't really a polite way to say this— popped your cherry," he muttered, a faint tinge of pink spreading over his cheeks. And Hermione felt her mouth go dry.

He glanced over her shoulder and back at her again with a frown. What had he said again? Because he was looking at her as if he expected an answer.

"I thought Weasley was your boyfriend?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.

Hermione opened her mouth to reply when she heard a giggling sound coming from the other end of the corridor. Hermione slowly turned her head, glancing through the cool hall. Ron and Lavender were coming their way, and Hermione felt her shoulders lock.

Ron Weasley's arm was draped loosely across her shoulders, his freckled fingers tangled in the ends of her hair. Lavender Brown was laughing, loudly, always so loudly, at something he'd said. His expression was a mix between haughty and relaxed and Hermione forgot how to breathe.

Lavender saw them first, her lips quirking upwards hostilely. "Oh, WonWon, look what we've got here?"

Ron looked up from her face and stared at Hermione and than at Malfoy. His eyebrows furrowed together in surprise. "Hermione?" he slowly said, before glancing at Malfoy again. His cheeks turned an ugly shade of red and he exhaled loudly. "Malfoy, what do you want?"

Lavender giggled, "I think this alcove is taken, WonWon, let's go find another place."

"Another place?" Hermione asked, feeling bile rise.

Lavender's girlish smile disappeared and she hooked her arm through Ron's with a smirk that could only be described as evilly. "Ron and I are dating, Hermione," she told the bushy-haired girl while drawing her finger up Ron's upper-arm.

Hermione felt the colour drain from her face. "Dating?"

"What are you doing here?" Ron asked again, his mouth drawn into a thin line. "What are you doing here with _him_?"

"Why Ron?" Hermione snapped, giving Ron a withering look. "I can't talk to him now?"

"No, you can't." Ron snapped back and Hermione bristled.

"I can talk to whoever I bloody well want! I certainly do not want nor need your consensus and if you really thought I was desperately waiting for your opinion on this matter then let me tell you; I WAS NOT!" she screeched, new tears dripping down her cheeks.

"I—" Ron started; struggling to form a good comeback. "He might try feeding you a Love potion, again!"

Malfoy stepped away from the wall and a murderous glint in his eyes. "Say that again, Weasley, say that again, I dare you!"

Ron tried to pull his arm free from Lavender's clutching grip. "It's all over the school, you bloody ferret!" he snapped, drawing his wand and pointing it at Malfoy's chest. "It was your stash, you just wanted some sick fun!"

Malfoy flushed red and drew his own wand. Lavender seemed to be unsure of how to proceed and Hermione rubbed her flushed cheeks.

"Oh really, Weasley?" he asked coldly and Hermione glanced at him with puffy eyes. "And you think I'm the one who's known to have some sick fun? What about your brothers? Aren't they the ones who are always responsible for every joke?"

Ron sneered and Malfoy smiled, his face devoid of any feelings. "I have to admit you went on rather quickly. I thought even someone with your brain-level, would understand what drugged would mean…"

"—You know what Ron," Hermione snapped, interrupting Malfoy mid-sentence; she had every intention to truly hurt him. Like he did when he was angry. Play on his insecurities, and there were so many of them too, "You listen so well to the rumour mill, yet you seem unable to form a thought without its help, therefore I'll be as clear as I can be. _He_ wouldn't have to _drug_ me." she needled, pointing her finger at a shocked Draco Malfoy. Ron's face flushed red, and slowly he raised his wand towards her. "But you would," she whispered menacingly and Ron's face flushed.

"Weasley, put the wand away," Malfoy snapped and Ron scowled at Malfoy, but he didn't lower his wand. Hermione smirked cruelly, before levelling Ron a frosty glare.

"If you think I'm even in the slightest bit threatened or that you can dictate on what I can and cannot do, I can assure you, I do not care what you think of me." she snapped, before glaring at Lavender. "I don't care much for your opinion either."

Hermione grabbed Malfoy's arm; proceeding in pulling him along. Malfoy glanced at her with a raised eyebrow and

o.O.o

Ginny Weasley wasn't really a researcher. She didn't have the patience to riffle through countless books and search through the many different sections. She wasn't good at finding the right book either. Grinding her teeth together she thumbed the edge of a yellowed page, frowning at the introduction she didn't really understand and crossed her legs at the ankles.

Potions was a substantial large section, and therefore it took ages to ever find something. Anything. She grumbled, almost snapping her quill into two halves. Madam Pince eyed her angrily, bustling around the library, huffing, replacing the books that Ginny had been looking through.

With a heavy sigh, she closed the book and pushed her quills, ink and parchment away. She wasn't even sure what she was supposed to be looking for. The obvious love potions were banned and not only that they were also difficult to obtain. Ginny knew from Percy that Snape introduced the sixth years reluctantly to Armortentia, but he never had them brew it, nor did he ever allowed anyone to have all the ingredients. They merely had to be able to distinguish it from other potions.

She stood up from her seat and wandered to the bookshelf. As she reached for one of the highest books, she heard the footsteps approaching from behind, but she wasn't really bothered.

"Weasley!" someone snapped, and Ginny almost dropped the book she had been pulling off a shelf.

Pansy Parkinson, looking much more like her usual self, was leaning against her table. Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail and her lips were pursed. Ginny felt her cheeks involuntarily heat up.

"What is it, Parkinson?" she asked carefully. The torches on the walls sputtering ominously and eyed her research with a sigh. The muscles in her stomach tensed when Ginny noticed the predatory look on the other girl's face.

"You know who did this, already?" Parkinson asked

Ginny's eyes widened and shook her head. She tucked the book under her arm and crossed the space between them. "How should I know?"

"You really don't see it, do you?" Parkinson asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ginny discarded her book onto the table and crossed her arms over her chest. "I— I don't understand what you're going on about," she admitted, and Parkinson blew a loose strand of hair out of her face. She seemed at ease, but the tensed muscles in her neck said otherwise.

"Someone put Armontia into _all_ the Whisky bottles," she told the younger girl and Ginny rolled her eyes. She knew that, obviously. "Someone had such a grudge or might even have thought it was a justified action, because Draco served as some provocation during your Quidditch game," — Ginny swallowed angrily — "and drugged a whole House in the progress, what do you think?" she continued sarcastically.

Ginny stood frozen and glared at the other girl.

"It was one of the Gryffindors!"

Ginny felt her mouth fall open. She glanced at Parkinson again, waiting for her to shake her head and telling Ginny she was trying to push her buttons, but she didn't. Pansy Parkinson's face was devoid of any emotions. Apparently, she thought there was a kinship between the two girls and even more strange, Pansy Parkinson thought Ginny was useable.

Useable to find the culprit, who she thought was someone from Gryffindor, and therefore Ginny was worthy to converse with, hence her blood-traitor blood running through her veins. It was almost ironic; she would have laughed if the pug-faced girl wasn't trying to put the blame on one of her housemates.

Her story might be solid, but Ginny didn't buy it. She couldn't think of anyone who would do _this._ Corner Malfoy and beat the crap out of him; yes, sure. Secretly watch their training sessions.

"No one from Gryffindor would do something like this." she started, feeling sick all over again. "If Malfoy's stash was drugged than it could be anyone. Why would it be a Gryffindor?"

"So you weren't there when we defeated you into Quidditch?" Parkinson asked sarcastically, clearly unconvinced by Ginny's argument. "I realise that the Gryffindors are generally better liked, but the animosity between Slytherin and Gryffindor is— to say the least— is strong."

"And now you think that _someone_ of my House couldn't deal with our loss and blames it on Malfoy, who was an inconsiderable arse among other things?"

"Yes," Parkinson snapped, "And I want to know which Gryffindor because I'm going to ruin that one!"

" _You_ are, are you?" Ginny asked, amusement flashed across her features. Parkinson turned pink and Ginny raised her eyebrows.

Parkinson rose an eyebrow and made a clucking sound. "Believe me when I tell you, you have no idea what I'm capable of."

Ginny looked at the other girl and for the first time realised that there might be more to Pansy Parkinson than met the eye. "Right," she answered, "I need to go."

"I'll be seeing you, Weasley," Parkinson said in what sounded like a clear dismissal. "Keep your ears open, and don't forget, they didn't just hurt _us_ , they hurt you too!"

"Fine," Ginny answered. "Fine, I'll keep my ears open."

"Great," Parkinson told her, patting her shoulder, before leaving the redhead alone with her research.

Ginny looked at the floor and to the high ceiling windows and at the elaborate fireplace in the corner of the room. The fireplace with its beautifully scrolled moulding was the only heat centre in the library.

"Miss Weasley, have you found what you were looking for?" Madam Pomfrey asked glancing at the stack of books with a frown.

"Yes, no—" she started, "I'm sorry Madam Pomfrey, I will only take this one." she continued showing the other potions book at the librarian.

The librarian nodded curtly, before flicking her wrist, sending all the other books to their rightful place. As Ginny left the library, the new book clutched under her arm, she couldn't help but think there was some truth in what Parkinson had said.

As much as she liked to deny it; this was the work of someone outside of Slytherin House. The question that remained was; who was stupid and at the same time crafty enough to get into the dungeons to spike the Firewhisky with Love Potion.

 _To be continued…_

* * *

 **A/N: And here is chapter two. Hope you'll all enjoy it^ For those of you who think Hermione was unreasonable to Ron; she was. I will not deny that. But I didn't think she was all that reasonable in the sixth book with him either. Ron himself isn't all that reasonable either (or at least I never thought he was, and I will try to not change his personality).**

 **As for Draco Malfoy's personality: practically everything in the Wizarding World is behind on the muggle world. I think sexuality at least a few century backwards is too. It would seem to me that things as virtue and marriages (especially staying married to someone) are important. I won't have him fight unnecessarily with Hermione because quite frankly, he has his own problems and can use an ally. Even in the form of a Muggle-born.**


	4. Chapter 3, twisted

_**Chapter Three, Twisted**_

 **G** inny Weasley stared up at the canopy of her bed. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her fingers mindlessly drew figures over her ribcage. On the other side of the room, Lizzy McDonalds and Nina Ballot slept soundly. Their breathing was even and loud into the otherwise silent room.

Hermione Granger still refused to speak to her and she had started to feel worse when Lavender Brown and Ron Weasley returned to the Common room; holding hands. Apparently, with Hermione goody-two-shoes-Granger falling out of favour, Ron thought he had permission to start dating the biggest gossip of Hogwarts.

She rolled over onto her stomach, hoping to stop her active mind. It wasn't working. The problem she'd labelled as Hermione Granger dissipated, only to push the more prominent problem forward. Someone had drugged them. Someone had indirectly drugged her, and Ginny Weasley wouldn't stand for it.

She would find the idiot responsible and she would hex him or her into next week. It would be admittedly much easier if she had Hermione Granger to help her with that task. The little bookworm knew how to do her research and she might find something. Unlike Ginny, Hermione knew how, and more importantly _where_ , to look. She could ask one of her brothers or perhaps even Harry Potter for help as well, but she was sure they would want to know why she wanted to help the Slytherins. She doubted they would believe she would do it for Hermione as Ginny normally stayed clear from Hermione's problems. But Hermione wouldn't help _her_. Not without Ginny admitting she had slept with Blaise Zabini under the potion's effect. She wasn't sure if she wanted to tell that secret to anyone, much less to Hermione Granger.

Ginny squeezed her eyes closed and inhaled softly again. She was no closer to sleep, so early in the morning than she was in the middle of the night. Wringing her hands agitated, she slowly got up from her bed and dressed into her school robes.

The common room was blissfully unoccupied. The embers in the fireplace were still glowing, casting a soft dull light through the room and cast shadows over the furniture. Flicking the oil-lamp on, she sat down on a sofa.

"Ginny?" Hermione's voice asked softly.

She jumped, her muscles locking together and her hands growing clammy. Ginny wrung the tablecloth between her hands, before helplessly glancing at Hermione. "Hello Hermione,"

Her eyes were hostile, but expression was more curious. Ginny wondered what would win out, curiosity our hostility.

"What are you doing here?"

Curiosity it is.

"I— I couldn't sleep," she admitted softly.

"I see,"

"I'm really sorry, you know!" Ginny said, after a moment of silence. "I know you think I betrayed you, but I just didn't know what to do. You were all over _him_ and I didn't know how you would react if I tried to magic you two apart."

Hermione nibbled at her lower lip, before sighing. "I see—" she simplified, biting on the tip of her tongue and seemed to ponder how to reply.

"Are you going to forgive me?" Ginny asked.

"Yes, Ginny I will forgive you," Hermione answered with somewhat of a grimace on her face. "I just— I feel a bit lost."

"Would you feel better if I told you that I get it?" Ginny asked softly, feeling her cheeks heat up.

Hermione let out a humorous laugh. "How could you ever get it?" she asked.

"Because I went through the same, only with someone else and I certainly didn't drink as much as you and Malfoy did, because the Potions were not that potent in the morning anymore," Ginny muttered, falling over her own words.

Hermione stiffened, before looking directly at the other girl. "What?"

"You know how I always leave my homework till the last moment?" Ginny asked, nervously fiddling with the hem of her skirt. Hermione nodded, her eyes wide and her lips open. "Well, there wasn't any reason for celebration and I wasn't in the mood to deal with any more gloominess, so I decided to start on Potions. B— Blaise Zabini found me there. He had grabbed one of the bottles and from one thing came the other so to say."

Hermione bit her lip again; her teeth pressing against the flesh hard enough to turn it white. "Please say something, Hermione." Ginny pleaded.

Hermione shook her head. The wrinkles in her brow smoothed out some, and she slowly stood up. She didn't invade her personal space, Hermione was skittish when it came to such familiarity and sat down in front of her.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what to say," she admitted slowly. "I didn't know."

"Obviously," Ginny answered, digging her nails into her palms. "I haven't told anyone."

"I can guess why," Hermione admitted, she opened her mouth again, but then someone stomped down the stairs, or the remaining of stairs, so loudly both girls jumped. Ron Weasley stomped into the common room. His face was flushed scarlet and his nostrils were widened.

"You shagged Zabini?" he snarled, stepping well into her personal space. "Zabini?" he asked again and Ginny felt her eyebrow spasm.

"Go away Ronald, it's none of your business." Ginny hissed, glaring at her older brother

Ron's face turned even redder, reminding a swollen tomato and Ginny exhaled loudly. "Listen, I'm fifteen, not a child you have to look after." she started slowly, "And you should respect my wishes when I ask you not to get involved."

"Does mum know?" Ron asked nastily and Ginny swallowed.

"No," she whispered.

Ron seemed to be at a loss for words. His mouth opened and closed, but he seemed incapable of forming actual words. Ginny dug her nails into her lower arms and waited for him to say something. To hiss insults at her at how she should be ashamed or how could she be this stupid. Ginny half expected the comment about how no female specimen could see herself safe in Zabini's presence, but perhaps she gave his vocabulary too much credit.

"I'm disgusted, Ginny." he hissed, seemingly having the reigns of his control back.

Ron turned around kicking aggressively at the leg of a chair, before groaning in pain. He glared at her over his shoulder and Ginny felt her breath hitch. He was wearing the same look as when he broke her favourite Quidditch figurine when she was seven and he was eight. It was a look that never bode well. Ginny pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow. There wasn't much he could do. Not really…

"Ronald, you should stop dictating other people's life," Hermione told him matter-of-factly. "Quite frankly this has nothing to do with you."

"Nothing to do with me?" he asked, his voice shrill, "This is my sister!"

"Who can handle herself,"

Ron smiled and Ginny swallowed. "We'll see about that," he whispered, before returning to his dormitory. They waited until his footsteps faded completely, before continuing their conversation. Hermione agreed with her; they should figure out who initiated the attack. They sure as hell were not going to be the laughing stock of the whole school.

Two days later and neither Ron nor Harry had made any effort to speak to her. From Harry, she had suspected it. After all, to him, she was only his best friend's kid sister. Ron, however, averted his gaze whenever she tried to approach him. He was planning something, but Ginny didn't know what it possibly was. There wasn't really that much space to worry about it either. Ron barely spoke a word to anyone, as he always had his tongue down Lavender's throat these days. That in itself wouldn't bother her so much if they didn't constantly shove their 'love' under everyone's nose. It made several students uneasy, but it made Ginny sick.

The news that she was involved had spread through the castle. Micheal had not been able to handle the news well and their _relationship_ , or whatever it was what they had been involved in, was over. Ginny wasn't as upset as she could have been. If she was honest, the idea to touch a boy now revolted her.

"Hey Red,"

Ginny wanted to groan. Couldn't a girl just spend her time in peace? Ginny wrung her hands together and sighed. Most of the Slytherins avoided the Great Hall during the bustle of dinner and most of them waited till most of the other students had already left. Ginny understood the feeling. Being ridiculed was one thing, but being the butt out of every sex joke wherever you went, became tiring.

"What is it you want, Zabini?" she asked tiredly, thinking about the amount of homework she still had to complete.

"To talk," he dead-panned as if that was the most obvious thing.

Someone whistled loudly, and Ginny groaned.

"Ah," Seventh year Hufflepuff loudly announced, and Ginny actually gave a longing glance towards the direction library. "A rendezvous? In the middle of the Hall? How lovely," he said smirking cruelly, "Need another taste do you?"

Ginny felt her cheeks heat up and took a threatening step towards the much taller boy, He merely lifted an eyebrow. "I must say, Weasley, I didn't think you would go with it _willingly_."

"Go to hell," she hissed back.

She turned around, about leaving the corridor, but Zabini interrupted her fleeing path. "Oh no, I don't think so he whispered, before lifting a dark eyebrow in mock question.

Ginny had been on the receiving end of insults he and Malfoy threw. She knew how easy they found your buttons to push and pushed them they did, quite excellently actually. So when he shot the older boy a lazy, superior smirk, she felt almost sorry for him.

 _Almost being the keyword._

"Well, perhaps you should look for that one person who got the Love Potion," Zabini answered dryly, and Ginny raised an eyebrow. She'd expected better from him. "Yes, I'm pretty sure that would be the only way _you_ could get anyone to touch you."

Ginny bit her lip to refrain from laughing. Zabini made a point to look the other boy up and down. "I definitely doubt any sane girl would get near you unless you pay them a fortune and seeing you don't have that kind of money, you have to resort to potions." he continued, needling the other boy with a vicious smile.

Hufflepuffs were not known for the quick comebacks. Raking a hand through his sandy hair, the boy opened and closed his mouth a few times. Ginny involuntarily thought he looked like a goldfish.

"I'm a Prefect," the boy snapped, his eyes glinting as if that knowledge would protect him against the venom Zabini sprouted and was about to sprout.

"And I know the Head boy _personally_ , really, do I need to be impressed?" Zabini drawled lazily. "Come on Weasley, we need to discuss a few vital elements of our arrangement. I certainly don't need to catch anything that makes you that stupid."

"I— what?" she stammered, slight embarrassment surging through her veins. "Vital elements to our arrangement?"

"Oh, I'm sorry should I have said something else?"

"You're a jerk!" Ginny said, crossing her arms over her chest. His eyebrows rose to an amused height and she gave an exasperated sigh. "What did you want to with me?"

She could practically hear his amusement dripping from his voice when he spoke again after some painfully prolonged seconds. "I know you spoke with Pansy…"

"Yes," she admitted. "I've kept my ears open, as she so theatrically said, but I've got nothing."

"Nothing," he repeated.

Ginny pursed her lips following him through the corridors as he led her to an abandoned classroom. She had to run to match his quick steps. His legs were a lot longer and he seemed to have an unfair advantage. Zabini slowed down his steps somewhat and let out a frustrated groan. She perched down upon the edge of one of the tables. He was silent for a moment and Ginny glanced at him through the corners of her eyes. He was good looking, she certainly couldn't deny that. His face was chiselled and his lips were full. But instead of masculine, he was rather beautiful…

Ginny wanted to laugh. The irony was not lost on her.

"Draco made a list," Zabini explained.

"A list?"

"Hm," he retorted, offering her a piece of parchment with a very neat handwriting. Ginny frowned, her eyes flitting over the names.

All Gryffindors, all people she knew.

"Bigoted inbred good-for-nothing wanker!" she cried. "Those are my brothers you included!"

She knew it was unreasonable. But after being on edge for so long it felt so good to throw it all out. _It felt so good…_

"Yes, we damn well included your sodding brothers." he returned menacingly. "Because quite frankly I don't trust them as far as I can throw them."

"You want to discuss _trust_ , Zabini?" she asked coldly.

"Oh," he hissed, his face dangerously close to hers. "And you think you're perfect, do you?" he asked coldly. "Well, let me help you out of that fantasy. You are hot-headed, self-righteous twit."

"Oh no, how am I going to live, after hearing you say _that_?" she retorted sarcastically.

He smirked meanly. "I wasn't finished, love," he whispered, before pushing her chin up with his index finger. "You yourself are a superficial bigot. You don't know me, not really and yet here you are pretending you know who I am and why I am that way. You and your family decided, like so many others, that _we Slytherins_ are rotten. That all of us are, well, bigoted pure-blood fascists, while you don't even try to get to know us to verify the fact."

Her cheeks turned red and she poked her index finger in his chest. "I'm not the one calling Muggle-borns Mudbloods because I have a superiority complex."

His smirk became even broader. "No, you lot go around and drug a complete house because you lost at a Quidditch game."

She gasped. "No one from Gryffindor did this." she hissed. "Who says not one of your snakes had a bone to pick with Malfoy?"

"And risk the wrath of Lucius Malfoy?" Zabini asked icily. "No one in my House would. It might not have crossed your mind, but the only ones who were spared from that little drug fest, were either the children who are not allowed to drink—" at her raised eyebrow Zabini snorted, "We do not give the eleven-year-olds or any student under the age of fourteen booze you know? But either way, the children were spared, the students who stuck to Butterbeer and the ones in the Hospital wing, which leaves seven students who all had nothing against Malfoy. There goes your lovely theory, darling, right out of the window."

"Oh really?" Ginny asked, crossing her arms over chest, hating herself for agreeing with him. Even only a little "And how was a Gryffindor supposed to get into your little snake pit?"

Zabini opened his mouth and closed it again before a smile quirked at his lips. "That doesn't make it impossible sweetheart, that only narrows it down."

"I know of Potter's invisibility cloak, darling, and you just helped me realise the missing pieces into this puzzle," he muttered, before pointing at the list. "Do add Potter," at the disbelieving expression on her face, he shrugged. "If it makes you feel better, I don't think Potter is the one who did it, but he might be privy to the information who is…"

Ginny jaw slacked. She hadn't thought about Harry's invisibility cloak. Frowning she clenched and unclenched her fingers. Harry had been awfully silent about what had happened. He didn't try to figure out who had drugged his best friend, which she realised was odd. So was stabbing someone in his back and she just couldn't see Harry do it. Then again, Harry hadn't been much like himself, had he? Ever since Cedric died, the-boy-who-lived had been unable to deal with his problems adequately. He had adapted to survive and his will to live had saved him, time after time already, but to what price? Even Ginny, especially Ginny, could understand what an impact quilt could have, and how much you needed to, how much resolve you needed, to throw the quilt off. There was nothing worse that being responsible, and Harry wasn't really responsible, not the way Ginny had been with the attacks, for someone's injury.

Biting her lip, she glanced back at the Italian boy and noticed his eyes spark with resolve. He knew he had her, and he knew how much he violated her believed and ideas just by rubbing the truth under her nose. She hated herself for believing him. She hated herself for seeing the truth in his words. She hated how the one who had drugged them had probably done so int the name of righteousness and that was the same reason she would have been ready to burn down the world for.

"Miss Weasley?"

Ginny spun around, her face registering shock and her shoulders stiffening when she noticed Professor McGonagall and her father. Arthur Weasley was pale, and it was only the comforting hand of Hufflepuff head of House Professor Sprout that kept him from leaping to the dark-skinned boy — who looked a lot less smug in the face of her father's anger.

"I—" Ginny started, realising with a stab of horror that Ron had told her parents. Her mouth went dry and her face pale. "Dad?"

Professor McGonagall stepped further into the room, blocking her father's path — would he loose all grip of his anger — and stared through the room in disapproval. Her complexion was far more pale than usual and Ginny wondered how long it had taken them to find her.

"Could you spare us a moment?" she asked through clenched jaws.

Ginny blanched and nodded her head of House, before shooting a warning glance at the tall Slytherin. He just nodded politely.

"See you later, Weasley." he stated, backing further away into the room.

Her father sniffed disdainfully, but even he couldn't do anything with so many people who could intercept him. McGonagall glanced at the young girl with a frown, but Ginny knew she wasn't prejudiced against Slytherins — only when Quidditch was involved — but Ginny couldn't bear having her name dragged through the mud again. And her parents visiting the school because she lost her virginity while being intoxicated, that would definitely fuel the rumour mill again.

McGonagall led them to her office on the second floor. Her mother was there; her muscles tense and her face tight with displeasure. Ginny noticed her mother's hands shaking at her sides and she swallowed.

The door slammed shut behind them and Molly Weasley gave Ginny a pointed look, before rushing towards her and developing her in a bone-crushing hug. "My poor girl," she whispered softly and Ginny involuntarily felt tears start in her eyes.

"Molly,"

"Yes," Molly Weasley reluctantly answered the unspoken demand and let her daughter go. Ginny knew now what Ronald had been planning. Telling her parents was as effective as any and as watched her mother take a seat in front of McGonagall's desk; tears gleaming in her eyes, but the determination in the wrinkles on her forehead told her how she refused to let them fall. Molly rubbed her eyes before combing both hands inelegantly through her hair. The red locks puffing up around her face in the heat of the motion.

"How has this happened?" Molly demanded, "How could this ever happen?"

"We don't know yet, Severus has figured out the brand and who brew it—"

"Wait, he did?" Ginny interrupted. "They know who did it?"

"Not exactly," McGonagall answered, giving Ginny a pointed look for interrupting her and glanced back at her parents. "Our Head boy requested an extra-credit project to go above and beyond what was expected in his classes. And I believe he needed a better mark for potions—"

"And so Snape decided he needed to brew a Love potion?" Arthur Weasley demanded.

"No, it's from the extra-credit protocol Horace Slughorn invented."

"And he hasn't given it to anyone." Arthur asked, "Who is the Head boy?"

"Seventh year Ravenclaw Roger Davies," McGonagall explained. "He had no reason to drug anyone, but he has been punished for being negligent."

"For being negligent?" Molly shrieked and Ginny clenched her hands. "He should have been expelled. Obviously, he was more than a bit negligent."

"Molly, please!" Arthur exclaimed. "Our daughter—"

"My child," Molly whispered softly, glancing at Ginny with teary eyes. "I'm taking her home," she announced resolutely.

"What?" Ginny gasped and McGonagall looked alarmed as Molly got to her feet.

"You heard me, Minerva," Molly repeated, "I'm taking my daughter home."

 _To be continued…_

* * *

 **A/N: I never really understood why everyone saw Ginny and Hermione as best friends. I always thought they were friends, and they would give each other advice when Hermione stayed over, but never did they seem as** _ **best**_ **friends. I always thought Ginny hung around with Luna Lovegood instead.**

 **And we've got trouble in paradise. Molly Weasley has always been very protective over her only daughter, and I'm not going to change that. Ron is not going to like what is coming to him…**

 **Just a heads up, I don't hate Ron, I really don't. But if we're being fair he is not known for being subtle. Nor is he known for being capable to keep the rains on his temper.**

 **Anyway, let me know what you all think; I love reviews.**

 **Harry Potter does not belong to me, but to J.K. Rowling**


	5. Chapter 4, pain

**A/N: I was wrong, next chapter will have Dramione in it and will be the start of their story, so to say. Either way, enjoy!**

* * *

oOo

* * *

 _ **Chapter Four, Pain**_

' _ **B** ut the man was stirring... a silver Cloak fell from his legs as he jumped to his feet; and Harry saw his vibrant, blurred outline towering above him, saw a wand withdrawn from a belt... he had no choice... he reared high from the floor and struck once, twice, three times, plunging his fangs deeply into the man's flesh, feeling his ribs splinter beneath his jaws, feeling the warm gush of blood... The man was yelling in pain... then he fell silent... he slumped backwards against the wall... blood was splattering on to the floor…' — J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Order of the phoenix_

 **G** inny Weasley had never been so angry in her life. It had taken Minerva McGonagall an hour to reassure Molly Weasley that everything would be sorted out. Still she would have to come home with her parents, her holiday starting earlier, but at least she would be allowed to return back to Hogwarts after the Christmas holidays were over.

She lay in bed, unable to sleep. Her father was on duty and the Burrow felt bigger and emptier than it had in a very long time. On the other hand, she would have probably tried to murder Ron if he had been here as well. Her father had kissed his daughter on her forehead — 'it will be fine, Ginny,' — and had left the Burrow. It gave her a strange feeling, knowing that her father was out there on duty, doing Merlin knows what. Her mother hadn't been very forthcoming either. When Ginny asked what her father would be doing that evening, her mother waved her off.

A faint light peaked out from under the rim of her bedroom door, hitting Ginny's face. Ginny frowned, before turning over, gloomily glaring at the window.

Ginny groaned and turned on her stomach, sighing softly.

"GINNY!"

Ginny let out a shriek of surprise, before realising her mother had trudged into her room and she clapped her hands over het mouth. "Mum?" she gasped, before glaring. "What are you doing here?"

"Your father has been attacked. Get dressed, immediately." Molly whispered, before disappearing out of the room again.

The old bed creaked underneath her as she manoeuvred herself out. The room was still relatively dark and in her haste to locate her clothes she failed to find her wand. Stumbling around the cluttered floor, she fetched her clothes and quickly slit into a pair of jeans and a thick woollen jumper.

She swiftly went down the spiralling staircase, her feet echoing loudly of the steps. Professor Lupin was standing into the living room, his face grim. Fear gripped her heart; her head automatically turned to her mother's clock on the mantle. Her gasp was audible into the silent room. The hand of her father had landed on 'Mortal Peril'.

Ginny turned back towards Lupin. "What happened?" she squeaked loudly.

Lupin slowly got closer. "Your father was attacked, Ginny." he told her.

Ginny felt her eyebrows furrow in anger. "I know that," she snapped. "What happened?"

"A snake attack," Lupin explained.

"A snake?"

"Yes," Lupin answered. "He was taken to St. Mungo's. Your brothers and Harry are being sent to the Headquarters. It's much closer to the hospital, than the Burrow."

Ginny nodded, not really understanding what had happened. How did a snake attack her father. She thought he had to guard something in the Ministry and she was quite sure they didn't keep snakes. Not even Cornelius Fudge was that crazy.

Molly Weasley joined them in the living room. Her eyes were puffy and her face was pale.

"Why are we still waiting?"

"We have to wait for the Hospital's notification." Lupin explained.

"Why?" Ginny asked annoyed her nails digging into the sensitive flesh of her palms.

"Because we are not supposed to know as of yet."

Ginny didn't understand. She breathed out loudly, before slumping down onto the old ratty couch and let her head fall into her hands. After ten minutes an owl swept into the living room and dropped a letter on the table, before sweeping back out.

Molly Weasley reacted, before anyone else had the time to do as much as blink. She snatched the red enveloppe from the old wooden table and tore the seal away.

"Dear Merlin!"

"Mum?"

"He's still alive." her mother whispered, pressing the letter to her chest.

"MUM!"

"I'm sorry, Ginny dear!" Molly whispered, before turning to Lupin. "They discovered him early, but he is in poor condition. He has been taken to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries." she whispered. "I'm going."

"So am I!" Ginny said resolutely.

Her mother looked like she wanted to argue, but Ginny glanced back at her with teary eyes. Shaking her head, she walked over to the fireplace.

"Thank you for keeping me company, Remus." she whispered, before she threw a handful of floo powder into the flames. "St. Mungo's!"

Ginny followed her mother. Years of practice made using the Floo network easy. She appeared at the aforementioned destination without a hitch; patting her jeans clean of sooth. They were in a waiting room, practically deserted, save for the woman sitting behind the reception's desk. Shifting in her seat she turned her startling blue eyes to the two woman.

"Can I help you?" she asked, not necessarily unfriendly, but with ,what Ginny assumed was, years of experience, the woman stayed pragmatic.

"Yes," Ginny's mother hurried, "I'm Molly Weasley," before beckoning to her daughter, "This is my daughter, Ginny. We were informed that my husband, Arthur Weasley, was attacked and he was brought here."

Recognition flashed into the receptionist's eyes and she nodded slowly, giving them a pitying look. "Yes, of course," she said softly, "The healers are with him now, he's in an emergency care room on the first floor. Best if you wait here."

Later Ginny would learn that Harry had some kind of out-of-body experience; witnessing a snake viciously attacking her father. She did not learn what top secret duty he had been engaged in, but when Ginny did see her father — as pale as a sheet while covered in welts and cuts — she didn't care.

Except from deep wounds that wouldn't heal, her father had also gotten an almost lethal dose of poison into him. Ginny realised that if it hadn't been for Harry's quick response, her father wouldn't have been found, nor would he have been treated so quickly; he would have died.

Ginny felt her heart constrict as she glanced at her father again. Dumbledore had explained everything that happened to her brothers and she expected them to arrive at any time now. Her mother had slumped down into a chair, her face was tearstained, and her eyes were bloodshot. When she left to get her brothers (and Harry), Ginny had simply refused to leave her father's side. Beside the obvious fact she wanted to stay with him lest something go wrong, she didn't want to see Ronald. Her anger might have dimmed for the moment, she was still very much planning on hexing the git.

While her mother was away, Arthur Weasley opened his eyes in the morning. He was still weak and his voice was hoarse, but at least he'd opened his eyes, glancing around the room with eyebrows raised — 'Where am I?' —. Ginny gasped loudly, hovering over her father with furrowed brows and her fingers rubbing soothing circles on his upper-arms.

"Dad?"

"Nice to see you, Ginny dear." he told her, a small smile playing on his lips.

Ginny squeezed his hand and smiled at him. "Nice seeing you too, dad, how are you?" she whispered, sitting down at the edge of his bed.

"Slow recovery," he replied, pushing a lock of auburn hair out of her face and glanced over her shoulder as her brothers stepped into the room.

"Hello Weasleys!" her father cried, Ginny slowly stepped away. Her brothers rushed into the room; Fred and George uncharacteristically pale, Ron worrying his lower-lip with his teeth and Bill and Charlie rubbing their hands together with small anxious smiles.

"Dad!" they cried out and circled the Weasley patriarch, stooping low and hugging their father warmly. Molly Weasley flushed, and stuttered for them to let him go, but the boys just glanced at her, hugging their dad, before running to their mother.

"Oh my boys!" she whispered, hugging them one by one. Harry stood a few feet away from Ginny's father's bed. He seemed uneasy, nervous, giddy… Ginny couldn't really place the look on his face.

The whole family moved to Grimmauld place, Sirius ancestral home, for the time being. It was tucked away in the northwest of London, only a twenty minute walk from Kings Cross Station. Dumbledore had decided to use it as the Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix. It had strong security measures on it. It was unplottable, because of the Fidelius Charm, and you couldn't step over the threshold when you were not invited.

As Molly Weasley and her sons gathered along the dining table, Ginny followed Harry out of the kitchen into the long hallway. The wallpaper was peeling off and the carpet had worn thin, but Harry didn't seem to mind, when he traced his fingers over a large cut. Walburga Black's portrait was hidden behind her curtain — blissfully silent for a change — and Ginny carefully navigated around the troll-leg umbrella stand.

They passed Kreacher, Sirius' House-Elf with a bulbous, snout-like nose, and bloodshot eyes. He was old, having white hair growing out of his bat-like ears. Harry ignored Ginny — even though she was obviously following him — and started to go up the stairs, ignoring the row of shrunken House-Elf heads. He stepped into the drawing room.

The drawing room had long windows facing the street in front of the house, a large fireplace, an old pasty sofa and the large tapestry of the Black family tree — the tapestry where Walburga Black had burned Sirius off — and sat down onto the couch. She hovered in the doorway, unsure if she should go inside as well or not.

"What do you want, Ginny?" Harry asked suddenly, looking up at her. There were bags under his eyes and she noticed his lips were dry.

"Are you all right?" she asked tentatively. Harry had been rather explosive lately.

"Do I look all right?" he snarled an almost hysterical edge to his voice and Ginny slowly took a step back, crossing her arms over her chest.

"What did you see?" she asked. "Navini, or whatever, went to hunt."

"Nagini," he corrected almost automatically, "that's Voldemort's snake, it attacked your father, because Voldemort wanted it." Harry explained, fiddling his thumps together.

"How _did_ you know that?" Ginny asked softly.

"I—" he started, before shaking his head. "I don't know. I kind of— saw it."

Ginny frowned, it just didn't make sense. "That's weird," she nodded thoughtfully, not really sure what to say to the older boy. He had such beautiful green eyes; she shook her head. "It's not your fault, you do realise that, don't you?"

"You do not understand," he sighed, the fight slowly leaving him. "I was the snake…"

Ginny's eyes widened for a moment, before she frowns. "How can you see from You-Know-Who's snake?" she asked softly.

Harry gave her a peeved look, before dropping his hands; "Moody thinks there is a possibility of— possession…"

"Are you losing time?" she asked.

Harry frowned. "No," he answered, "No, I don't think I am."

"Are there gaps," she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. "Unclear images you don't understand. Dirt under your nails from places you hadn't been that day? Things like that?"

"No,"

"Than you're not possessed."

"How could you possibly know?" he demanded, his eyebrows furrowing together.

"Remember my first year, Harry. I would know a thing of two about being possessed." she answered stiffly, before leaving the living room. She heard his sigh of recognition, but didn't bother to turn around.

"I forgot," she heard him muttered and Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Good for you," she whispered as she started to climb the stairs to her bedroom. All the stress was becoming too much and she needed a moment to herself. She needed to sleep and come to herself.

o.O.o

Hermione Granger awoke early to an empty dormitory. She blinked tiredly, kicking her comforter off, while searching for her slippers. It was rather strange how her roommates were already gone, while it was still dark outside. She grimaced when she thought about Ron and Lavender. Probably gotten up early to explore each others throats. As for Parvati and Amy Geagen, she had no idea.

Rubbing her painful shoulders she stepped into the bathroom, blinking sleepily against the morning-light. Her steps echoed dauntingly into the small, white-tiled bathroom. She glowered at her reflection, before scarping a brush through her hair.

Grumbling to herself, she grabbed her bag and wandered down to the Common Room, hoping she wouldn't run into anyone. She could do with people judging her harshly again. She could deal with disapproving, censorious glares. She could even do with the buzz of talk all around her, she just didn't like how her housemates, especially Lavender and Parvati, treated her.

Didn't like their condescending stares and disgusted looks. Didn't like the way they left little _presents_ on her pillow and on her nightstand, like hangover potions and sex-toys. Even thinking about them made her cheeks burn.

And then there was Ronald Weasley. That absolute arsehole! How could he kiss Lavender Brown, her roommate and newly appointed tormentor, in front of her? Not only did he reject her feelings in public, he also made it abundantly clear that he wasn't interested in _her_. Curling her fingers into tight fists she bit her lower-lip angrily. She wanted to hurt someone.

She knew that their personalities weren't exactly compatible, and there were many personal traits that drove her absolutely spare. But in the end she had always thought he knew that she loved him and she thought he loved her. Or at least that was what she had thought.

With a grimace she remembered her redheaded best friend's arms encircled around Lavender's waist, while his lips slanted passionately over hers. Hermione wasn't sure what she had done wrong. It wasn't like sleeping with Malfoy was entirely her fault…

Hermione was so engrossed with her own thoughts, she wasn't paying much attention to where she was heading, nor who was around. When she reached the bottom of the stairs in the Common room, she almost ran into the last person she wanted to see: Lavender Brown.

"Look who's there?" Pavati whispered softly from her seat in front of the fireplace, and Hermione's eyes snapped open, glancing at her reflection in the high window with wide eyes. Lavender smiled meanly and slowly sagged down into a love-seat next to her best friend.

Hermione bit her lower-lip to stifle her annoyed moan and glared at the two girls. Lavender and Both of them were curiously glancing at her.

"Hermione," Lavender greeted stiffly, and Hermione nodded frostily, before swiftly leaving the Common Room.

"I swear she get's more arrogant every day." Lavender's loud complaining voice followed her out into the corridor.

"Hardly, Lav." Pavati's soothing voice answered. "She's just embarrassed about what happened."

"She should be."

Hermione meandered through the castle angrily. Her footsteps were loud in her own ears and her cheeks tingled as the cold air assaulted them. They made a methodical clacking sound, her shoes beating against the flagstone floors, easing into her thoughtful dace. Her pace slowed as she heaved the Great Hall doors open and crept inside.

Although she was not really in the mood, she looked around the table, wondering where her friends were. But she was unable to locate Harry or Ron, nor did she see Fred, George and Ginny. Sniffing at her eggs with raised eyebrows, she grimaced. They were absolutely fool smelling that morning, so therefore she opted for toast with jam.

Hermione hummed distractedly to herself as she attempted to read through a Defence book. She wanted to focus, needed to think about something else, and not about Ron Weasley or his incapability to keep his hands off his _girlfriend_.

She certainly didn't want to think about them giggling and snogging in every corner of the castle. The whole idea made her slightly ill.

Hermione poured a cup of tea, trying to ignore the stares almost burning holes into her back and tried to tune the not-so-subtle mutterings and laughs of the students around her.

She fiddled through the pages, while shoveling sausages and toast into her mouth. She could feel _his_ gaze onto her now; boring into the back of her neck. She glanced through the curtain of her curls and watched Malfoy calculatedly watch her. She felt her cheeks heat up and glared at her book; upset with herself with him, with practically everyone.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione stiffened, before glancing up from her plate and frowned. Professor McGonagall was standing there, her hands clasped together. "I must speak with you immediately."

Hermione nodded, before following her Head of House out of the Great Hall. When they were alone in her office, where no one could disturb them, she explained what had been so urgent.

"Your friends, Mister Potter and the Weasleys were removed from Hogwarts castle last night." McGonagall explained, and Hermione found her mouth slack open. "The situation is difficult to assess, but Mister Potter witnessed a snake attack on Arthur Weasley, the Weasley patriarch, during a dream."

"What?" Hermione stumbled over her words. "How? Where? How did a snake get to Arthur? Is Mrs Weasley all right?"

"I can't go into details, Hermione." McGonagally explained, "but Arthur was engaged into a top secret mission for the Order."

"How is Mr Weasley?" Hermione whispered, wrapping her arms around her chest. "Is he—"

"He's alive," McGonagall assured her. "Arthur has been rushed to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies. Harry and the Weasley children have taken a portkey to Grimmauld Place, awaiting news."

"But he's going to live?"

McGonagall glanced at her in a way that said; 'why do you recognise my attempts to diffuse your first question', and rubbed at the bridge of her nose. "That's unclear at this time, Miss Granger. He was badly poisoned, as well as lost a lot of blood. However, if it wasn't for Harry there is no uncertainty that he would have died at the Ministry."

Hermione nodded slowly.

"When asked, you don't know what's going on." her Head of House explained and Hermione's brows furrowed.

"Their sudden departure can be noticed any moment now." she explained. Officially we haven't released any news of Arthur Weasley's attack."

"You want me to keep silent?" Hermione deducted, but she made it sound like a question.

"Yes, Miss Granger," McGonagall nodded, " _Professor_ Umbridge is, like you can imagine, very curious to why we removed the children from Gryffindor Tower. She will seek to interrogate you. I don't recommend that you stand out to much today."

She nodded, and clasped her hands together. "And Harry?"

"He's all right. He was startled, but eventually he was all right."

She nodded. She wondered why they had not woken her last night, but supposed that Ron would not have wanted that. Worrying her lip she thought about Lavender. Had he woken her instead? She felt positively wretched when she left her Head of House. Not only had they excluded her, but now she worried about her best friend.

Holidays would start in two days. Hermione had told her parents she wouldn't come home this year during Christmas — studying for her newts, she'd said. She couldn't bare to see them. They would know something was wrong in away parents always seemed to know when something was wrong. And hell would freeze over, before she told her mother — who already wasn't Dumbledore's biggest fan since the petrification incident during second year.

She took studious, diligent notes during her classes that day. Ignored the jibes of her classmates, threatened to hex Justing Fledger if he called her the school-slut again and spent her afternoon in the library. It wasn't after that she left the library, heading for bed, she broke down.

o.O.o

It was ten minutes to curfew when Draco Malfoy stumbled out of the library tiredly. Another night had been wasted to research, another evening in which he could have done more enjoyable things. The hallway was dark and empty, the torches on the wall sputtered ominously as a gust of wind travelled through the corridor, creating misshapen shadows on the stone wall. A dull sort of disappointment clouded his mind when he heard the soft sniffing sound.

Draco groaned. He couldn't stop the sound leaving his throat. _She_ was huddled against the stone wall tucked away in the corner and he stood there. At war with him self what to do. He could taunt her, she would go back to hate him and he could try to get the resemblance of his dignity back. He could almost—

And than she looked at him. So much pain, anger and hurt and he couldn't— he just fucking couldn't. Pushing buttons and calling her names; all right and dandy. Kicking her down, hurting her like that, he hadn't done that when she had been crying in her first year and as her lips quivered he couldn't do it now.

Gryffindors were pathetic at hiding their feelings. Especially this one it seemed. While he pretended he didn't care. While he only had to sneer and Crabbe and Goyle still cracked their knuckles threateningly at others, she was an open book.

A dangerous open book. An open book that would cost him his inheritance and status if his father found out. He sighed. It had been obvious she hid her sadness from her friends — and some friends they were. She hid her anger and hurt behind a facade he found almost impressive, but she collapsed every time. She didn't do that in the Prefect bathroom, save from wandering eyes, or in her own bed, with the curtains closed. No, she broke down in an alcove; hidden perhaps, but what good did that, when she didn't even bother with a silencing charm.

"Get up!" he commanded, suddenly annoyed. He had lost his first time to her as well and did he act like a living breathing train-wreck? No! "I mean it Granger, get the fuck up!"

"No, go away Malfoy!" she hissed, wiping her tears with the sleeve of her shirt. "Go away and annoy someone else!"

"Hell I will." he snapped, grabbing her wrist and hauling her up. "You act like you're the only one who got crossed. And quite frankly, I'm sick of it. You can't be seriously upset about the fucking Weasel and the she-slut-Brown.

"It is none of your business." she hissed back, leaning against the wall and poking her finger into his chest. "You do not own me!"

"No, thank Merlin, no!" he groaned. "Why do I even bother. Annoying stuck-up little bookworm." he muttered, . "Needs to feel sorry for herself. Some Gryffindor she is."

He didn't look back at her as he stalked out of the corridor. Didn't turn his head over his shoulder to glance back at the bushy-haired girl as she emitted an angry yell. Tapping his finger on the shiny surface of his prefect badge, when he encountered one of the other prefects, he quickened his step. He wasn't sure why he was so upset.

 _To be continued…_

* * *

 **A/N: Arthur Weasley had always been an easier parent than Molly Weasley. At least that's what I got from the books. I almost forgot about the attack, but it was rather importantEither way, I hope you'll all enjoyed this chapter.**

 **I will admit, this was mostly a filler chapter, but I completely forgot the attack on Arthur Weasley, and as this part couldn't really fit with the rest of the story, so I worked this in by a particular fit of genius.**


	6. Chapter 5, Alcohol takes the edge off

**A/N: I was wrong, next chapter will have Dramione in it and will be the start of their story, so to say. Either way, enjoy!**

* * *

 **o.O.o**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Five, Alcohol takes the edge off**_

 **H** ermione Granger was under the impression she rarely had gone through a worse Christmas Holiday than she had last two weeks. Even though she had tried to stay at Hogwarts, her parents hadn't agreed. Her parents had all but dragged her off into the aeroplane and she spent two weeks, bundled up in her winter clothes, sitting alone on a skiing resort, while her parents enjoyed their time outside.

She met up with Harry, Ron and Ginny at Grimmauld place a day before they would be returning to school. She and Ron were still at odds with each other and according to Harry, Ginny hadn't said a word to her youngest brother other than asking him to pass certain foods.

After staying in the hospital for a bit more than a week, Arthur Weasley had been released from the hospital and although he was still pale and had dark bags under his eyes but at least he was alive. After experimental using Muggle medicine (stitches), the treating Healer, Healer Smethwyck, figured out an antidote to the poison that had been in the snake's fangs.

The next morning they returned to school, taking the Knight Bus. Hermione had never taken the Knight bus before, and she was quite sure she would never do it again. While riding the bus their chairs flung backwards and she hit the wall painfully, more than once.

They arrived at a snowy Hogsmeade half an hour later, and Hermione was reacquainted with her lunch as flecks of snow hit her sweaty forehead. Nymphadora Tonks — her hair now a violent purple — brushed Hermione's hair out of her face.

And this was very much the worse day of the year. They started the day with a double-Potions lesson, while Harry fidgeted from next to her — almost as pale as a sheet because of his trepidation for his _remedial Potions_. After Arthur Weasley's attack, Professor Dumbledore had ordered Professor Snape to teach Harry Occlumency — because he feared Voldemort could use _their connection_ to spy on Harry's private thoughts —.

Ron and Lavender fawned over each other. Which was rather stupid, as Snape was in one of his bad moods again, but surprisingly he didn't bother with them. Instead, he kept shooting disgusted stares at Harry, his dislike for the messy-haired teen etched in every line of his face.

A high pitched girlish giggle sounded across the Gryffindor Common room. The sound was sickly sweet and Hermione felt gooseflesh spread over her arms and legs. She bit her lip with so much aggression she tasted blood a second later.

The winter break had come to an end and even with his father hurt, Ron had gone back to being absolutely horrible. He argued with his sister, he ignored Hermione and she'd heard he and Lavender had done the deed (so to say).

Lavender laughed again and it made the hairs on her arms and legs stand on edge. Hermione hid her face behind the book she had been reading or more accurately pretended to read, and started to grind her teeth together. It wasn't exactly a healthy way to deal with anger and heartbreak, but it kept her from lashing out, and she preferred that to anything else right now.

Ron and Hermione hadn't spoken normally ever since their raw in the fourth-floor corridor almost two weeks ago and Harry had stopped trying to mediate the situation. At least not openly. Lavender Brown was perched on Ron Weasley's lap, sitting across the room. She was running her fingers through his hair, raking her nails over the back of his neck. Hermione had, for the umpteenth time that week, to swallow the urge to be sick at the sight. Her nails raked over the back of her hand.

"Do you want to go somewhere else?" Harry asked, glancing at his best friend while running a hand through his messy hair.

Hermione shrugged, thinking back at the bottle of Firewhisky she had bought from Madam Rozemerta that afternoon, during the Hogsmeade weekend. It was sitting safely into her schoolbag; practically winking at her and she exhaled loudly. She had been tempted all week. She wanted to know what it felt like to feel her emotions finally tune out.

But Harry couldn't know that. He had enough on his plate already.

Hermione sighed and glanced at Ron again and he stared back as if feeling her stare. His eyes were cold and his lips were slightly drawn down. He looked at her coldly, before turning towards Lavender and tilted her head back, sealing her mouth with his. Hermione jerked up from the squashy scarlet armchair.

"I think I want to go do some homework in the library," Hermione whispered, "You can come if you want to?" she offered, knowing he wouldn't.

"No," Harry whispered, just as Hermione expected.

Hermione got up from her seat and Harry exhaled loudly. "What?"

"You're really are going to make me endure their love making alone then?" he asked, "Can't you do something else? I mean like finding a secluded classroom where we could go over Occlumency?"

She was about to run back to the comforting, familiar confines of her dormitory when the portrait hole opened and emitted a furious Ginny Weasley.

Ginny looked like she wanted to massacre someone, bury them or toss them unceremoniously out of the window. Hermione watched intrigued as the furious redhead stalked over to her brother.

"You are an unbelievable git!" she snapped pushing her wand under Ron's chin.

Lavender squeaked, before toppling backwards of his lap and several students gaped at the open sibling brawl.

"Gin, What the hell?" Ron snapped, and Ginny pushed her wand further against his throat and Ron spluttered.

"You involved mum, again!" she shrieked and Hermione felt a small smile spread over her face. An angry Ginny Weasley was a dangerous Ginny Weasley. And right now, she would love to see Ron squirm.

"Ginny?" Harry asked tentatively. "Please, just lower your wand, this isn't worth it."

Lavender seemed to collect herself and nodded. "No, Weasley, it isn't. It isn't my Won Won's fault you got—"

"Don't finish that sentence, Lavender, I am warning you!" Ginny whispered threateningly, flicking her wand in Lavender's way and the older girl clamped her mouth closed.

"Perhaps if you hadn't fooled around with Blaise bloody Zabini, mum wouldn't have to be informed. I told you, you should stay away from him. You just don't listen." Ron said, crossing his arms defensively over his chest.

Ginny flushed prettily and she bared her teeth at her brother. The room was momentarily blinded by a flash of light, followed by a loud thump. Hermione was momentarily blinded and when the light dimmed Ron was on the floor coughing and wheezing, while black bats were crawling out of his nostrils.

"You are a lousy— Ugh, I can't even say it!" Ginny shrieked. "How dare you! Writing mum? That you wrote her the first time, well I got over it"

"You wrote to Molly Weasley?" one of the bystanders asked, seeming to be involuntarily impressed. "That's cold."

"I would shut your hole, if I were you, Finnigan," Ginny whispered threateningly.

"You can't just hex me, Ginny." Ron wheezed.

"Oh," Ginny asked in mock surprise, "Can't I?"

"You really wrote Mrs Weasley?" Harry asked, and Ginny turned to him and smiled unkindly. Harry seemed to be torn between being appropriately angry with his friend or siding with that same friend.

"Yes, Harry, he did," Ginny whispered, before waving her long slender fingers in the direction of her brother. "My brother sold his own sister out because he was jealous. Because he can't get a girl to pay attention to him— no, Lavender I know you're a girl, but you don't seem to care as long as it is a boy— and because Hermione got screwed, I'm sorry Hermione, no pun intended, and because Ron can't keep his temper in reign—"

"Are you going to make a point anytime soon, Gin." Ron hissed, apparently managed to lift the hex on him and slowly got to his feet.

"My point, Ronald, is that I'm going to bury you." she hissed

"Oh, are you going to shag Zabini again, would certainly show how low you are?" Ron told his sister acidly.

"That went too far, Ron!" Hermione hissed.

"Why don't you go and slobber up to Malfoy, Hermione?" Ron asked, sneering at her. A few boys laughed and whistled at him and Ginny rolled her shoulder, before laughing coldly.

Many students lingered in the Common room, curiously awaiting what would happen next. Ron stood defensively with his arms crossed over his chest. Hermione felt her cheeks redden in anger because Lavender Brown was clinging to his arm, smiling smugly at her.

"You're disgusting," Hermione whispered angrily.

"The whole school knows that you only snog Lavender because you are just trying to get back at her," Ginny yelled, her wand was trained on her brother again and the next moment Ron was again on the floor, sprouting horns out of his head.

Hermione blinked against the sting of tears, even though Ron's humiliation in the form of loud laughter was a welcome one and watched Ginny turn away. After Ginny stomped up the stairs, leaving her brother red-faced and trembling on the floor, Hermione slung her bag over her shoulder, straightened her skirt with trembling hands and exited the common room.

As a Prefect she had certain privileges. One of them was being allowed outside after curfew. She stalked down the corridor and approached the door of an abandoned classroom where Hermione had caught a kissing couple one month ago.

She sat down on the windowsill and drew her knees up under her chin. Against her better judgment, she grabbed the bottle and took off the topper. With a frown of distaste, she brought the bottle to her mouth and tilted her head back quickly; taking a big gulp. The liquid burned down her throat and she coughed against the sting of the whisky. It burned her throat and the taste was slightly bitter, but the whisky was wildly appreciated. Hermione took another chug and a few tears slid down her face.

By the third gulp, she could feel herself getting lightheaded. When a quarter of the bottle was gone, she no longer thought about Ronald Weasley and she didn't think the blurriness of her vision was caused by tears either.

Hermione felt numb and she was so glad for it. She silently hummed to herself and slowly grew accustomed to the warmth in her stomach. She didn't really think the Whisky was all that bad now and dropped her head back when she started to fell lightheaded.

' _So this was why people liked to drink so much._ ' she thought, swirling the bottle in her hand, the liquid making a funny sloshing sound.

Hermione closed her eyes and twirled the topper between her fingers. She sighed when she heard footsteps in the corridor. She took her wand and conjured up small little birds — a spell which was swiftly becoming her most favourite — and listened to their chirping.

o.O.o

The torchlight flickered against the walls, as Draco Malfoy passed by. Agitated shadows followed him down the corridor. He could hear the wind howl outside and the rain pattered against the windows of the castle. Cold air whistled through the corridor and Draco involuntarily shivered. He only had one more hour to go before his patrol was over. He hadn't found anything out of the ordinary. Ever after the day of the prank he had started to take his patrols far more serious. He even took over the patrols of Pansy whenever she wasn't feeling like it — which was often because Pansy was lazy — and Draco didn't even mind it.

He was quite glad to have a reason to be out on his own. Ditching Crabbe and Goyle was easy. He had scared them rather nicely and he could always rely on them to not come with them to the library. Draco had never really cared for Crabbe and Goyle. They'd been his pawns — just like his father had told him — and as they could be easily bossed around and had no opinion other than echoing him or echoing their fathers Draco had no real interest into the hem.

Draco enjoyed the silence. Needed the silence to think. To think about the Potion. The ingredients to the Potion were curious. Or at least part of it was. Pearl Dust, Ashwinder eggs, Rose thorns, Belladonna, Wormwood and Aconite…

Pushing his hands into his pockets he rolled his shoulder-blades, before stopping dead in his tracks. He heard a creaking sound, which he couldn't place.

Draco raised an eyebrow, before silently following the sound. It came from a deserted classroom. Not only could he hear a creaking sound, he now noticed the soft sobbing sound as well. Slowly he pushed the door open and peered inside the room. A girl, her hair wild and her face hidden in her arms, was hiccuping, sobbing really, onto the windowsill.

Several birds flew through the air, circling around the girl's head and chirped loudly. Draco frowned and stepped closer. It was then that he finally recognised the witch on the windowsill.

Hermione Granger was seated into the window sill. Her hair was even bushier than normal and small yellow birds circled around her head. He noticed the bottle — half empty and used to obviously be spirits — clutched into her hand.

"How much did you drink?" he asked simply.

She gasped, peeking at him through thick lashes. Her face was flushed pink and her eyes were suspiciously wet. She was wearing a simple scarlet jumper and muggle jeans. He lowered his wand, and tucked it absentmindedly into his pocket, before pulling pressing his fingers against his temples.

"How much did you drink, Granger?" he asked again and she giggled. He looked at her with a frown. "Seems to me that you drunk quite a lot," he continued. "hell, you smell like fire-whisky!"

Hermione nodded, "Oh, I had a glass, I suppose." she hiccuped, he frowned at her red-rimmed eyes.

"More than one, I would say." he drawled, before trying to take the bottle. Granger frowned, before cradling the whisky to her chest. "Come on, give it to me!"

"No, you'll take my fun." she stated matter-of-factly.

"The last time you drank wasn't that much fun either, or was it?" he asked, holding his hand out to her. "Give it here, I mean it, Granger. You can't hold your liquor down and you're an underaged Goody-two-shoes who's breaking the rules."

"As if you never break them." she muttered.

"I'd think you would win out against me." he drawled sarcastically. Hermione sighed and dropped the bottle into his hand. Tears slid down her face and her lower lip wobbled. He sat down on the edge of the table as she sniffled dabbing at her cheeks dry with her sleeve.

A few minutes passed in moderately comfortable silence. He pulled out a handkerchief, offering it wordless to the soft sniffling girl. She accepted it, blowing her nose before holding it out to him again.

"No," he muttered, "You can keep it. Why are you crying?"

She sniffled again, avoiding to look his way, and glanced at the grey cinderblock wall. "Because I'm stupid!" she offered simply. "I'm stupid. No fun and not exciting… Apparently, I don't know how to be a girl nor how to be beautiful or alluring—"

"Did Weasley say that?" he asked, interrupting her.

She hiccuped again and twisted her handkerchief between her fingers, before nodding. He sighed again. He didn't understand why Weasley needed to hurt her so often. She was annoying, but he claimed to be her friend. Not only that, those Gryffindors claimed to be so much better. Thought they were the light-side, as he'd heard Neville Longbottom refer to his Gryffindor friends before, during Potions. Draco doubted Longbottom knew everyone could hear him, even if he spoke with a small trembling voice.

"Well," Draco started, "that's not true. We don't like each other and even I can see you can be fun and you are certainly not _stupid_. Sounds to me that he's jealous. And knowing Weasley that's not that far-fetched, is it? The _stupid_ oaf has six older brothers, all who have overshadowed him all of his life, and you think he is capable of admitting you're better at something than him, much less support you?"

Hermione sniffed softly and glanced at the bottle in his hand. Granger was surprisingly feminine and although her hair looked more like a nest than anything else, it had felt rather nice to drag his fingers through. She didn't dress that well either, but she certainly didn't look bad sans clothes. He swallowed; this was a dangerous course to take.

"Ginny says the old Pureblood families don't— I don't know have relations before marriage, is that true? Have I gotten you into trouble?" she asked slowly and Draco started to become more aware of the bottle in his hand.

"Granger," he asked slowly, "these are personal questions."

"You ask me personal questions," she shot back.

"Yes," Draco answered, "I do, but that doesn't mean I have to answer them, do I?"

She sulked. She actually sulked, her lower lip caught between her teeth, and her arms crossed over her chest. Draco glanced down at his pocket watch to estimate the time. "It's after curfew, after eleven actually, it's time to go back to your Common room."

"No," she stubbornly answered and Draco wondered if he might get her there if he started insulting her. He doubted it. Insulting her never had the desired effect on her, only on bloody Weasel and he was not around nor did she want him to be.

"Merlin, my life sucks," he whispered, batting her hand away when she reached for the bottle again. "This is going to be a long evening."

She smiled at him. "I don't understand, I don't really remember…"

"Remember what?"

She smiled again, slipping off the windowsill. "You made my skin burn, you know that?"

"Granger," Draco warned, instantly worried when he noticed the hazy look and the predatory smile taking over her face. "Please recall that you hate me!"

"I don't hate you!" she slurred slightly and wobbled when she made another dash for the bottle. "I never hated you. I just didn't think you were all that nice."

"I see," Draco answered dumbly.

Granger smiled, swaying slightly, before grabbing him by the shoulders. He caught her as a reflex. She laughed loudly at that, the fingers of her right hand twisting in the hair of the nape of his neck. He was very much aware that he was dealing with a girl and it didn't seem to matter she was a Mudblood either.

"Granger?" he mumbled, feeling his cheeks heat up.

She smiled, before frowning. "This doesn't feel all that different now I'm not intoxicated," she told him matter-of-factly.

"You are more intoxicated now than you were three weeks ago." he muttered, "I hardly think this is the timing to— experiment…"

Fine fingers reached out to stroke his throat. He felt a shiver run down his spine and had to swallow his moan. He couldn't help the small part — all right the rather big part of him — that got excited. He opened his mouth to speak again, but she put two cool fingers over his lips.

"You haven't told me you don't _want_ to," she mumbled cheekily, before pulling him closer and pressed her lips against his. He did something he shouldn't. He definitely shouldn't, but he kissed her back. His lips worked against hers, and her fingers curled around the collar of his shirt. Slipping his tongue into her mouth, he snogged her soundly, while Hermione Granger started to run her hands through his hair. His hands travelled down her side, pulling her petite body tighter against the length of his.

When he caught himself pressing her into the wall, the bottle shattering on the floor below them, he realised he went too far. Hermione Granger was hardly in her right mind and as his hands pulled at the fabric of her shirt to reach the sensitive flesh beneath, he stepped back, breathing heavily. He kept her at arm's length and watched her chest heave up and down.

She smiled at him, her hands still on his shoulders, and wobbled. A chill wind blew down the draughty classroom, causing old yellowed parchment to skitter over the stone-paved floor. Hermione Granger slumped down and Draco caught her before she fell onto the floor.

She was out cold. Her eyes had slipped closed and her breathing turned even in seconds. He didn't have a doubt she would wake up with a massive hangover on hands.

"Fuck!" he whispered, pulling her up into his arms and slowly, pulled her along up the stairs. He needed to take her up to her common room. He certainly couldn't be found with her; _again_.

The way up to the Gryffindor Tower was tiring. Granger thankfully woke up when they arrived at the portrait hole and mumbled the password before he helped her through. He hadn't expected Ginny Weasley to be still up at that time of night.

o.O.o

When Draco returned to the Slytherin Common room late that night, he was expecting the cold circular room to be deserted. Granger had been difficult and it had taken him a while to get her back to her Common room — and get Ginny Weasley off his back after that. He still wasn't sure why the little redhead had been awake. It seemed like the Gryffindors who got drugged didn't deal well with it. It wasn't like he dealt well with it either, but at least he didn't resort to getting himself stupid drunk whenever he liked it. No, if anything, he would rather never drink again.

Granger on the other hand, seemed to think she had a free ticket to push his buttons now and it was only because he didn't like crying girls that he hadn't hexed her. Or that's what he told himself. She was his unwilling accomplish, his _first time_ and, according to his father, his lady-friend to whom he could ask whatever he wanted. Which apparently meant that as long as he was discrete — 'which, Draco, means the exact same opposite of what you are doing now' — he could _fuck_ her however he pleased.

With a frown, he pulled his father's letter from his pocket and glanced at his father's neat handwriting. He couldn't believe he wasn't disowned. He couldn't believe his father hadn't threatened to disown him like he'd expected him to do, but his father had unconventionally told him he could go around and screw the little witchling, as long as he stayed off the radar.

It made Draco sick. I'll to his stomach and he knew his father had neglected to tell his mother about his _indiscretions_. His father, as strict as he was, thought blood to be more important. To be above all, his mother on the other hand— He swallowed.

"Hello Draco," Pansy greeted and tiredly followed her voice. She was seated in front of the fire, her head leaning into her hand.

"Pans, why are you still up? I thought you felt ill?" he asked

"I'm feeling a lot better, thank you."

"Hm, hm,"

"You're going to like what I've got," she told him, a shark-like smile spreading over her face. Draco crossed the room and slouched down into an armchair in front of her.

"What is it you got then?" he asked.

"You know I've written to my father, don't you?" she asked steeping her fingers together and leaning her chin on the back of her joined hands.

"Yes," Draco admitted, he was quite certain everyone at Hogwarts knew, as she had cried loudly during one breakfast; how she would destroy the one who got her to sleep with Theodore Nott. "What have you learned?"

"I haven't learned much, I just wanted my dad's help."

"And you've got it?" Draco asked.

Pansy smiled again and pulled a letter out of her pocket. Draco rolled his eyes at her antics but was more curious than anything.

 _Dear Pansy,_

 _As expected everything has been completed as designed, Horace has agreed to offer us a batch. Three drops for one individual should do the trick. I will be sending you the phials at the end of this week. Notify me, when you find something out._

 _Use it wisely, and don't be caught._

 _Love,_

 _Your Father_

"What is he going to send you?" Draco asked slowly, returning the letter to her again.

Pansy's smile grew and Draco rubbed his temples. "Something that will force them to tell us the truth."

"Pansy," Draco started snapping his fingers, wandlessly lighting the fire — a trick his father had taught him years ago. "Is this something illegal"

"Oh come off it, even if it was, who are you to judge."

"That's not what I mean, but Dumbledore is already watching us closely." he shot back. "There is only so much that overgrown toad can do."

"Don't worry, Drakey!" she cooed, and Draco felt a muscle in his cheek twitch. He truly hated her nickname for him. "She uses it herself."

"Veritaserum?" Draco asked, the surprise obvious on his face.

She nodded; "Veritaserum."

 _To be continued…_

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 **A/N: And here is chapter five. Please review^^, I'd love to hear everyone's thoughts.**

 **Harry Potter does not belong to me, but to J.K. Rowling**


	7. Chapter 6, the Aftermath

**A/N: Thank you for all the reviews, I'm very happy with them! Well, a bit more of Dramione and a bit of Ginny and Hermione bonding! Enjoy the next chapter.**

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oOo

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 **Chapter Six, the aftermath**

 **I** t was raining, large drops splattered against the tinted windows and lightning flashed through the clouds. Ginny Weasley couldn't sleep. There were thoughts that pursued her, half-thoughts, faces in the darkness. Ron hadn't been able to reverse the horn spell himself and had to go to McGongall to reverse it.

At last she got up again and decided to have a long warm soak in the fourth-year bathroom. She stayed in there a long time. Ginny rubbed her hair dry and pulled on a dressing-gown, taking her shoes and winter-robe with her downstairs.

The Common room was deserted and she lit the fire and sat down beside it, looking into the flames, hearing them crackle. The wind outside was loud and the air in the room was stuffy. Hermione Granger's Half-Kneazle cat; Crookshanks, curled around her feet while the rain dashed against the windows.

The portrait hole opened and Hermione Granger — who was obviously heavily intoxicated — and Draco Malfoy stumbled through. Ginny's mouth opened in surprise; "Malfoy?"

Malfoy looked up; he stared at her for several seconds and Ginny tried to read his expression, but failed miserably. Even when he wasn't hiding behind his sneer, she still couldn't understand what he was feeling.

Hermione had her arms tightly wrapped around Malfoy's neck and barely held herself up on him. She giggled, a sound still foreign to Ginny and started to kiss his neck.

"What did you give her?" Ginny demanded. "It was you, wasn't it?" she hissed.

"No," Malfoy snapped, an expression of indecorous anger settling onto his features. "No, of course not, but I don't think you should let her near something that contains alcohol ever again."

"What?" Ginny demanded, getting to her feet, her fingers clasping onto her wand.

"Your brother," Malfoy started, before shaking his head. Hermione's face was hidden from view; her face pressed against his neck. "Stop doing that, Granger," he muttered releasing a soft hiss.

He pulled her up against his cheat, cradling her there, and Hermione let her flushed face fall against the crook of his neck. Ginny slowly inched closer. She was obviously drunk; he wasn't lying about that. And Ginny knew she had been upset. She had seen it in her face when she cornered Ronald that afternoon.

"And it ended in her kissing _your_ neck?"

"Yeah, she does reckless things when her inhibitions drop." Malfoy muttered, "Blaise told me you haven't found anything yet." he asked her conversationally as he slowly lowered Hermione on the cough.

"Did she try more?" Ginny asked and Malfoy glanced at her wand hand.

"Are you going to try and hex me, Weasley?"

"You're seriously out of your lead, you know that, right?" Ginny whispered, "Why didn't you tell her off?" she demanded again.

"If it is a gentleman you were after, you're looking at the wrong guy."

Ginny felt an eyebrow twitch, before lowering her wand arm. Ronald always had the knack for deeply hurting those around him. He knew what to say and what buttons to push to hurt people the most. Looking at Malfoy she shook her head. He knew that too. But the difference was, no one expected anything more from Malfoy. Malfoy didn't bother to hide his disdainful attitude behind anything, while Ron did.

"Have you found anything?" Ginny asked.

Malfoy pursed his lips, before shaking his head. "No, but how am I supposed to find anything out? Bloody Dumbledore blows everyone off, whenever we even breach the subject."

Ginny nodded slowly, before covering the sleeping form of Hermione granger with a blanket from the side table. "Are you in trouble?" she asked, curious what he had gotten for smuggling bottles of whiskey into the school.

Malfoy smirked. "Wouldn't you have liked that?" he asked, "But no, I have to serve detention, but I'm _not_ the one who put the fucking love potion into it!"

"I never said that, didn't I?" Ginny asked, before sighing loudly. "No, I don't really think you're the one who drugged your own stash of whiskey. But I don't know who did it either."

"Hermione tries to figure it out by doing research." Ginny told him.

"Yeah, I know she does, but no matter how good she is at doing research, she won't find the answer in the library stacks." Malfoy answered. "I'm going, I suggest a painkiller-potion for that one when she wakes."

She dressed herself in a thick woollen jumper, pulled on her walking boots and pulled her coat over her nightgown. The rain had lessened to an insistent drizzle and small puddles had started everywhere, gleaming under the moonlight. She wasn't really thinking where she was going, but her feet were leading her along crooked bypass towards the shored. Occasional birds twittered from the trees and Ginny slipped down onto a stone bank near the Black Lake.

In the distance she heard the soft hustle-bustle of the people in Hogsmeade. The rain grew stronger again. Ginny focused on the patter of the rain in the trees above her and a rustle in the bushes. In the corner of her vision she noticed a shape; a fox winding its way through the bushes, low to the ground and quite silent.

Another shape moved in the corner of her vision. Ginny watched Fred and George emerging from the forest and she sighed. They stiffened simultaneously and glanced straight at where Ginny was sitting.

"Ginny!" George exclaimed, before smiling at her.

"What are you doing here?" Fred asked, "It is the middle of the night."

"Yeah," Ginny admitted, "I know that, I could ask you the same. What are you two doing here?"

"Oh," Fred answered, glancing at George. George smiled darkly, before pushing his hands into his pockets.

"We had some to do some research for our product-line." George asked.

"In the forest?"

"No one ever comes there," Fred shrugged. "Well, at least no one ever _came_ there, until you decided midnight strolls were a good idea."

"Hm," Ginny answered softly. "Can I ask you something?"

Her brothers shared a suspicious glance, before shrugging. "if you must," they answered simultaneously.

"Do you have any idea who was the one who drugged Slytherin House?"

"And you?" Fred answered evasively, realising an eyebrow, before exhaling loudly. "But no, Gin, we don't know."

George nodded. "You should ask Malfoy."

"He didn't do it," Ginny muttered, "If he did, he wouldn't have jumped Hermione. Not with the danger of him being the laughing stock of Slytherin, and I've never seen them do anything else than sneer and scowl at each other, so why would he?"

"Well, he got into her knickers didn't he?" Fred asked dryly.

"Yeah, and Blaise got into mine," she shot back and both her brothers flinched. "You must know something, you always know about these kind of things."

"Well,—" George started, "—we don't." Fred finished. "No one has taken credit for this one, so we really don't."

"Right," Ginny nodded.

The wind howled and the crack of a tree branch severed from it's tree made them flinch. Ginny glanced at the tree line and took a few deep breaths, willing her suddenly erratic heartbeat to slow down.

"Right," Ginny muttered again, "Whatever was I thinking?" she asked herself, before pulling her coat closer around herself and got up from the bench. "I'm going back inside."

When she returned to the Common room, Hermione was still asleep and ginny reckoned it would take some time for the older girl to wake again. It gave Ginny enough time to get her a pain-relieve potion and, as the grandfather clock at the wall chimed eight times, go to breakfast.

She ate breakfast in silence; ignoring the stifled, maniacal whisper that seemed to follow her lately. Ron sat practically across from her, wordlessly accepting a platter of bacon from Lavender. His eyes never leaved hers and Ginny felt somewhat elated that he was worried she would try to hex him (again). Ginny might have been the youngest sibling, but in magical talent she let Ronald bite the dust.

A beautiful dark-feathered owl swooped down from the rafters of the Great Hall to the Gryffindor table. Ginny almost squeaked when it dropped right in front of her, dropping a small note — previously clutched in its talons — and took off again. Ginny glanced at the note with a frown, slowly reaching for it.

"Who's that from?" Ron demanded. Ginny couldn't fantom how it was he still thought he had any right to ask her anything after he wrote to their mother.

"None of your business, Ronald." she snapped back and unfolded the parchment.

Her eyes doubled in size when she realised Pansy effin Parkinson had written her a letter. Turning in her seat, she glanced at the Slytherin table. It probably was the first day the Slytherins were in such big numbers again and it took Ginny a few seconds to find the short-cropped hair of Pansy Parkinson. Parkinson smiled secretively. Malfoy sat next to her, stabbing at his sausages while obviously ignoring his surroundings. Ginny frowned, eyes flitting over the letter.

"Veritaserum?" she whispered softly.

Harry Potter glanced at her, but didn't say anything. Ginny felt a smile spread over her face.

o.O.o

Rain was lashing against the window, tapping against the glass rhythmically. Hermione Granger groaned groggily as she slowly sat up in bed. So this was what a hangover felt like, she thought regretfully. She certainly wasn't sure if the slight detachment of her feelings was worth the headache beating behind her temples. She didn't even remember getting into bed.

Her head snapped up; bushy curls bouncing around her face and her eyes narrowed. She wasn't in her bed. Worse even, she was on a couch in the common room, while a horrible headache had settled behind her eyelids.

"Morning Hermione," Ginny greeted, pushing a small vial into Hermione's hand. "Pain relieving potion."

"You're an angel, Gin!" Hermione muttered, swallowing the contents in one swig.

As the headache dissipated she sat up, rearranging the blankets around her. Ginny glanced up at her, eyebrows drawn together in worry. "What's wrong?" she asked carefully and Ginny shook her head.

"Nothing is wrong, Hermione, but do you remember how you got here?"

Hermione frowned, before turning a bright red. Ginny smiled slightly amused and sat down on the floor, crossing her legs. "Malfoy had a face almost as red as my hair," she told the older girl and Hermione groaned. "I actually thought it was funny."

Hermione groaned again, before glancing at the other girl through the gaps of her fingers. "I practically jumped him, Gin."

"So he didn't— you know?"

"No," Hermione admitted. "He was a true gentleman."

"But you weren't so much of a true lady?"

Hermione chuckled. "That's what he said too."

"I got something this morning." Ginny whispered, her voice dropping a few octaves. Hermione frowned, glancing at her joined hands.

"Is it something bad?"

Ginny shook her head. "No, no— well, I don't really know if it's not bad; I suppose it is."

"What is it, Ginny?" Hermione asked, falling back into her role as prefect.

"Pansy ordered a batch of Veritaserum." Ginny admitted. "Or her father ordered it, she just asked for it."

"Veritaserum?" Hermione hissed, and Ginny punched her in her shoulder.

"Could you be any louder?" she huffed, "Yes, Veritaserum. We just put it into their goblets and we ask the question."

"Are you insane?" Hermione hissed lowly, and Ginny pursed her lips. "That's a felony!"

"So is administrating a Love potion, Hermione." Ginny retorted.

Hermione chuckled wryly, before shakily getting to her feet. Ginny watched her carefully. Straightening her skirt, she tapped her wrist. "Well, if you think it would work, I need to find Malfoy."

"You're going to kiss his neck again?" Ginny asked, smiling slyly.

"Shut up," Hermione hissed, punching Ginny's forearm lightly.

The silver Prefect badge shone proudly on her black robes as she strolled through the corridors. When she had been first appointed as a prefect she hadn't been surprised to get the spot, but she had been surprised Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson — especially Pansy Parkinson — had been granted the position of Slytherin Prefects.

She glanced outside, watching as the sunlight dappled onto the grounds. However unfair she believed their appointment was — and if she was honest it didn't really make her blood boil anymore — there were bigger things to worry about. A tense atmosphere possessed all of the students.

The Ministry had not accepted the reappearance of the Dark Lord and with that many lives were in danger. Hermione exhaled loudly and leaned against the dark grey wall and glanced outside. Both ignorance and acknowledgement had their advantages, but right now, witch such a dangerous foe running around, it might become their demise.

Hermione dismissed her dread, because she didn't want to dwell on it. She quickened her steps, descending down the stone steps outside and onto the earthy path. She knew the Slytherins had Quidditch training at Thursday afternoon.

She trotted towards the outskirts of the Quidditch pitch, quickening her step when she noticed the silver and green students, all holding a broom.

"Look who we've got here." Graham Montague, as sixth year Slytherin chaser said. Hermione pursed her lips in distaste. The large bulky Slytherin crossed his arms over his chest; his arms large and hairy.

"Yeah, I'm looking for Draco Malfoy." she said importantly, scowling at Crabbe and Goyle as they

"Making a booty call, Mudblood?" Greg Goyle cried and Hermione raised an eyebrow. She was rather impressed he knew what a booty call was at all.

"Ha, ha, ha, so where is he?" she answered coldly.

"Taking his sweet time to get dressed." Blaise Zabini drawled. Hermione nodded at him and blew a lock of hair out of her face.

"Why did you tell her?" someone asked.

"Why not?" Zabini answered. "Draco is more than capable to deal with his little friend. Moreover, I'd say they have a lot to discuss."

Hermione ignored the rest of their conversation and strutted towards the locker rooms. She had never been inside — never had a reason to —, but that didn't stop her from knocking onto the door.

"Malfoy?" she called, but no one answered.

Hermione wrung her hands together, glancing over her shoulder nervously. The Slytherin Quidditch players were making their way over towards the castle. She knocked on the door again, her fingers closing around the door handle and she wriggled it.

"Malfoy! Seriously, I know you there, I need to talk to you!" she called.

"Granger?"

"Yes," she answered, almost rolling her eyes at the oddity of it all. "Yes, it's me, I need to speak to you." she continued, before jiggling the door-handle again. Giving a frustrated groan, she pulled her wand out from her robes and unlocked the door with a click.

"I'm naked, Granger, don't come in." he yelled, his voice slightly pitched.

"Yeah, right." she hissed, before stepping inside the steamy room.

She had exactly three-seconds before regret kicked in. True to Malfoy's word, he was standing near one of the benches. A bathrobe wrapped around his hips and his hair still wet, he whipped his head around towards the intruder and scowled.

"Seriously, I realise you've seen it all before, but could you at least pretend you feel ashamed to burst into a changing room."

"I— I—" she stumbled, gulping and blinking rapidly, before averting her eyes in pure embarrassment. Closing her eyes she inhaled and exhaled slowly, glad with the fog ever-present in the room. "I needed to speak to you."

"And that couldn't wait until I was wearing something else than a bathrobe?" he asked snidely.

"I— uhm, I thought…"

"Yes?" he asked and she glanced at his amused face through her lashes.

"You are an—" she started and he rolled his eyes. He slowly closed in on her and Hermione gave a small squeak.

"Yes, I know, I'm an arse." he interrupted, before turning her around by her shoulders and pushing her out of the door. "Unless you want us to continue what we were doing yesterday evening, you should wait outside."

She glowered at him and he did a theatrical bow, tapping her cheek with his index finger. She crossed her arms over her chest and glowered in his face.

"Do you need to be a Gryffindor every second of the day?" he asked tiredly. "Get out!"

She didn't really have to be told twice. Blindly turning towards the door, she tumbled back out and exhaled softly. She didn't have to wait long, before he stepped out of the locker-room as well; broom in one hand and bag swung over his shoulder.

Hermione rolled her shoulders anxiously. What had happened to thinking before acting? Her reputation and her standing had all gone to hell when she'd thought it be a good idea to let herself be riled up by Malfoy. No matter if the drink was drugged or not, in the end she was the one who jumped on the opportunity to proof him wrong. Their drunken folly that followed had been almost charged with electricity. Hermione hadn't been lying when she told him — equally intoxicated but less under the influence of love potion — he had made her skin burn.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. His hair was slightly dripping onto the collar of his shirt and his hands were thrust into his pockets of his dark trousers.

"I wanted to talk to you."

"Yes, that much was obvious." Malfoy retorted, rolling his eyes for good measure.

"Is Parkinson really planning on using truth serum?" she asked bluntly.

Malfoy smiled and Hermione realised with a jolt there was more to that plan than she thought. "You're not telling me something." she accused, and Malfoy laughed boisterously.

"There is a lot I am not telling you, love, but I'll admit, you don't have the whole picture."

"Well," Hermione demanded, "Spit it out."

He raised an eyebrow, before shaking his head. "Are you really sure you want to be involved in a scheme that might hurt the people you love?" he asked, his smile falling away and Hermione realised that this was it. There was no turning back after this. He was basically asking her to betray her friends and with startled shock she realised, she had been more than ready for that.

It wasn't so much the Veritaserum she didn't condone, it was the fault in the plan. Veritaserum wasn't representable in court. It couldn't be used in evidence, but— She smiled; a slow Cheshire cat grin and he smirked right back.

"I want the one who is responsible for this to suffer," she admitted and felt slight worried about how much she actually meant that. "So, yes, I'm more than ready to be involved in your little scheme. I suspect it's better than Pansy Parkinson's."

"Pansy's plan is not horrible, but I don't see us capable to drug a complete house. Even with your assistance on that, we need more." he explained, and Hermione wondered why he would trust her like this. He swallowed and she was transfixed on his adam's apple as it bobbled. She shook her head, and felt her cheeks turn pink. That was probably the reason…

"And what more do you need?" she asked softly; her mouth feeling dry.

"We need to number it down in suspects."

Hermione frowned; easier said than done. Malfoy leaned back against the railing and she was struck by how nice looking he was. When he wasn't sneering, scowling and insulting her, the hard lines of his face softened. She swallowed, ignoring the unwelcome thrum of awareness in her lower abdomen.

"My father has contacts." he said simply; misinprenting her uncomfortable look. "He's trying to figure out who bought the ingredients."

"I thought the head boy—" she started, but Malfoy shook his head.

"No," he said. "He made a Love Potion for extra credit, but there isn't anything missing from his potion, nor his ingredients. Professor Snape made a list with what ingredients were in _our_ potion and my Father has his people looking for people, students maybe, who bought large quantities of those ingredients. We're still looking for the recipe, perhaps someone has just bought the potion…"

Hermione stared at him picking at this new bit of information and nodded slowly. "Can your father look into records in other countries?" she asked, and Malfoy frowned.

"You think someone bought it abroad?"

"We should consider it."

Malfoy pursed his lips, before summoning his broom and nodded. "I suppose we should. "

He turned to walk away, but seemed to hesitate in the last moment, before turning back. "You can't come charging into the changing room again." he told her matter-of-factly, "But I suppose it could come in handy if we could keep in touch."

Hermione nodded in agreement.

"Well, I propose we use these." he said, pulling two identical green-leather books out of his bag, before giving one to Hermione.

"What are those?" she asked softly, tracing her fingers over the cover.

"Twin diaries." he explained. "If you want to meet me, or just want to discuss something, you can write your question or preferable meeting place in here and I will know. Once you've written into it, other people can't use it, nor can they see what you've written into it either, unless you want them to."

"That's brilliant!" she gasped, her face lit up. Malfoy looked a bit unsure. Hermione wondered if it went against his very nature to make her happy like this. Or perhaps he was worried if she would throw herself at him (again) and she smiled. "Thank you,"

"Yeah, you're welcome." he mumbled. "I have to go, the guys are probably wondering what's taking me so long."

"Oh, they know I wanted to see you." she told him.

He gave her a long look before shaking his head. "You know what Granger, if I didn't know better I'd say you were enjoying this."

She smirked at him, before hugging the book to her chest. "I know I shouldn't, but right now I would enjoy anything to hurt Ron." she admitted and Malfoy's eyes widened.

"I see you later," she told him, turning on her heel and starting towards the castle. "Let me know if your father finds something all right?" she called over his shoulder and Malfoy nodded dumbly.

Hermione smiled at herself. She might regret it later, but the idea to hurt Ron the way he was hurting her, seemed like a great idea.

 _To be continued…_

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 **A/N: Harry Potter doesn't belong to me, but to J.K. Rowling.**


	8. Chapter 7, may the truth set you free

**Thank you all for the lovely comments, I will be getting back to all of you the upcoming days. With my tests almost done, I will have a bit more spare time and with that more time to reply and update a bit more frequently.**

 **Enjoy!**

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 **oOo**

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 _ **Chapter Seven, May the truth set you free**_

 **G** inny Weasley slumped against the wall. Her face was flushed and her eyes narrowed to slits. Blaise Zabini was the biggest arsehole in the whole school. Malfoy and Parkinson might have been the name-callers, the stupid Italian was worse. Grumbling under her breath, she stalked through the busy corridors of the Hogwarts castle.

She was never ever drinking again. Alcohol was evil — especially drugged alcohol — and warped your mind and morals until nothing remained.

"Hello Ginny," Luna Lovegood greeted, as she stepped into the charms classroom, which Gryffindor shared with Ravenclaw. "You're cheeks are red. Are you having troubles with the nargles?"

Ginny had no idea what a _Nargle_ was, nor did she particularly care, but she smiled at Luna and only shrugged.

The blonde gave her a watery smile, before glancing at her textbook. "How is Blaise?"

"It appears that humbleness does not improve his manners." Ginny answered, twirling her quill around her fingers.

Luna nodded. "Daddy says that boys do not really know how to show appreciation for a girl on our age."

Ginny smiled watery at the other girl and sat back in her seat. Luna's father always insisted on something that didn't and wouldn't have any good results. He relied on tings that couldn't be proven and said things that made no sense at all. Either way, there was no use in telling her that. She glanced at Flitwick's desk. The tiny Professor was explaining something to a student in the front row, and didn't seem to be paying attention to the rest of the class.

"I heard that Pansy Parkinson is bribing people to tell her who did it." Luna said suddenly, and Ginny didn't need to ask what she was talking about. She glanced outside noticing a boy flying above the Quidditch pitch. Squinting her eyes she recognised Blaise Zabini and grimaced. They hadn't exactly parted on good terms last time she saw him…

When her class ended and most of the students left for lunch, she decided it was as good as any time to speak to him.

"I wouldn't know," Ginny answered absentmindedly. "but I would like to know as well."

She crossed the grass-field, breathing in the scent that always permeated the earth when a storm had passed and listened to the crunch of the death leaves under her feet. Zabini must have seen her coming.

He hopped of his broom and bowed theatrically at her. Ginny rolled her eyes and glanced crossed her arms over her chest.

Ginny got the sense that his mind was somewhere else and frowned. "What are you thinking so hard about?" she asked and he smirked again.

"Pansy's truth serum arrived."

"I see?"

"We're looking for our first victims." he told her matter of factly, propping the length of the handle of the broom on his shoulder and leaned against the wooden balustrade.

"Well," Ginny muttered thinking about everyone who was a suspect according to him. "How are you planning to interrogate people anyway?"

"That's surprisingly easy," he told her. "You just grab someone's bag, make a beeline for somewhere privet and just wait until you're followed."

Ginny opened and closed her mouth. How was it she never thought about things like that? It was obviously an easy way to deal with someone and anyone who saw it thought it was just a practical joke.

She massaged her temples and inhaled slowly. A girl, Hufflepuff, older than Ginny, with long sleek brown hair and brownish eyes was making her way towards them. Blaise Zabini — normally all bitter and haughty arrogance — stiffened.

"Who's that? Why—" Ginny started, but never finished her sentence as the Hufflepuff made a high keening sound.

"You're with her?" she yelled, her eyes alive and angry. "AGAIN!"

"Leanne," he started, but she took her wand out and pointed it threateningly at his face. Zabini raised his hands and took a step back. Ginny watched the scene unfold with interest.

"First you sleep with _her_ , and then you start socialising with her as well?" she hissed, and Zabini smiled sheepishly.

"We were just talking." he purred. "Weasley was just leaving, wasn't she?" he continued, giving her a meaningful glance and Ginny smiled.

"Not really, I wasn't done with socialising with you." she told him and the girl flushed even darker.

"Weasley!"

The girl scoffed: "Katie was right, you are just a man-whoring sod." she hissed. "How could I be so stupid?"

"You take that back—" Zabini started angrily, taking a threatening step closer and the girl — Leanne apparently — glared at him, tears brimming into her eyes. She made a choking sound, before taking the last step and slapped him hard.

The slap was loud and it obviously stung Zabini's face; as he brought his hand to his cheek and staggered backwards.

"Do not touch me!" Leanne hissed, "How dare you— Well, you can spent as much time with Ginnerva Weasley as you like, because I don't care anymore." she glared at the Slytherin for a moment, before glancing at Ginny. "Have fun with him."

Ginny bristled and wanted to answer the girl with a scatting remark, but didn't have the chance. Leanne stomped back towards the castle. She felt slightly bad for her, when she heard the small hiccups and noticed the girl clutching at herself. Zabini was just standing there, like he couldn't care less. That he couldn't care less, and seemed positively unperturbed by the girl's (unjustified) frustrations.

"You fooled around with her." Ginny said matter-of-factly after a moment of silence.

"Glad you caught on the past tense of that." he snarked angrily. He sighed, scrubbing his hand along his face and sighed heavily. Ginny felt a pang of anger, pity and regret shoot through her. She worried her lip and shook her head.

She was silent for a moment, before opening her mouth again; "Well, you've got reason to dislike me now for real, don't you?"

"I have good reason to hate plenty of people," he hissed rounding onto her, and Ginny pulled her wand out of her robes.

"Careful," she warned him coldly. She might regret edging the other girl on and coming between her and Zabini's relationship, she certainly was not going to let him threaten her. "You have no reason to hate Harry or my brother, except for their political preference, and that's no real reason, so please enlighten me."

He smirked coldly: "I hate Potter because they, and with ' _they_ ' I mean the teachers, bend the rules for him while they don't bend them for us common folks. The Headmaster, who rules this place, in case you've forgotten, _favours_ him. Favours Hermione Mudblood-Granger—" he ignored her angry hiss and continued without batting an eye, "—for being friends with Harry Potter and favours your incompetent red-head brother, who you all seem to think is hilarious, but is just plain stupid and jealous of everyone."

"Zabini!" she snapped and he stepped closer, righteous anger coursing through her. "They don't. Haven't you seen Umbridge, or Snape?"

He smirked again. "He became seeker in his first year."

"He was good."

"I know of many students who were already good in their first year and they didn't get the chance." he coldly return. "That isn't fairness, Miss Weasley, that's as unfair as it can get."

"But— I—"

"See you around, Red." he told her, before resting his broom on his shoulder and started to turn away. "Or rather, Pansy sees you around, I'm not getting anywhere near you anymore."

He left the Quidditch pitch with swift steps and Ginny worried her lower-lip again. She hated to admit it, but he was right. She didn't like him to be right. Not at anything…

o.O.o

Hermione Granger had been studying. Well, she had been doing her research, fiddling through potions books; searching for an answer. Searching for a potion that did not only made you want to shag someone senseless, but also made you feel as if you _loved_ that individual. She was sure a Love Potion didn't work as a lust potion. Not like that, but she hadn't been able to keep her eyes open. Not at all, therefore she decided to close them. Just a minute, slumping back against the pillows and holding her index fingers between the pages she had been reading. She didn't even hear the book when it fell to the floor.

That was how Draco Malfoy found her. Granger was asleep on the couch of the Room-That-Gave-You-Things. He had wanted to have a moment for himself. Have a moment of piece in his old bedroom at home, but the room hadn't even taken the form of his bedroom, but of a study Draco had never seen before. It seemed like a comfortable study, but a study all the same.

His eyes flitted over Hermione Granger's sleeping form and Draco almost felt faint. She was the last one he wanted to talk to right now. His father had sent him a rather colourful letter and Draco expected him to come over any day now. Apparently he hadn't realised the whole school knew of his indiscretions and that was a problem.

Massaging his temples, he glanced around the room. He didn't know the room. It was light and homy, books lining one wall and a large rug in the middle of the room with a small coffee-table and one pretty white decorated chair around it. One wall had a small window which looked out over the lake and torches onto the wall had the room dimly lit. The couch was pulled back from the wall and was facing a grand fireplace. The fire was lit and illuminated her face. Her lips were pursed and she had a small frown between her eyebrows.

Even in sleep she seemed to be thinking hard. The almost ever-present crease in her forehead smoothed away, when he slowly traced a finger along her jaw.

She stirred, but didn't wake up. He crouched down in front of her. He remembered she slept like the dead. She had slept rather deep the last time he had spent time with her here as well. Draco closed his eyes as unwanted images of that night flashed before his closed lids.

Granger pushing his shirt over his head…

Granger sitting back on the bed, before smiling sultry…

Granger skimming out of her knickers…

And to think it all begun with a bottle of Firewhiskey. Draco sometimes wondered what had would have happened if he hadn't taken his drunken festives to the Owlery. If he had staggered through the hall into a prefect and that she or he would have gotten a teacher. He frowned at that. Granger was a prefect and she had let him goad her into drinking. Who said he wouldn't have been able to goad someone else as well?

He massaged the bridge of his nose again, and balanced on the balls of his feet. Perhaps what if's only made it worse. If he had stayed in the Common room he could have gone to Milicent — he shivered with a grimace — or Pansy and then he would have been in true trouble. At least Granger wasn't after his inheritance. Then again, that wouldn't be very sensible of her either; if he took her home and introduced her to his parents he would be thrown out or his father would murder Granger.

None of the options sounded very pleasant. Granger moaned softly and Draco felt his cheeks tinge pink. She made quite nice sounds…

 _The alcohol had taken effect on the bushy-haired girl within ten minutes. Draco hadn't intended for anyone to share his drink with, it just sort of happened. It was like an impulse. An stupid impulse he couldn't seem to stop and before he had even thought about it, he stepped closer to Granger. She was busy tying a letter to an owl's tallon and gave him a disgusting look._

" _You're drunk," she told him tartly. "If the teachers find out—"_

 _He smirked. "Didn't think you would shy away from a little bit of alcohol. How unGryffindor from you." he told her, and it went all downhill from there. She all but snatched the bottle out of his hand, kept her eyes on him — glaring spitefully — and brought the bottle to her lips, tipping it back and coughing violently._

 _He laughed, his chest heaving and his arms shook. The Firewhiskey began to take it's toll on him —_ so did the Love Potion — _and as they wobbled down the stairs towards the seventh floor, Granger had pushed him up against the wall. She was rather strong for such a petite girl._

" _No fair!" she hissed as he took a large gulp from the whiskey, and he kissed her then._

 _That was the moment he should have noticed something was wrong. That was the moment he should have stepped away and respect the line they had drawn in their first year — the line he had drawn, because his father had demanded it —, but the Firewhiskey was blurring the lines and he couldn't really focus when she wrapped her legs around his hips._

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and he shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He glanced at the book laying upside down next to her couch. She had obviously been reading and fell asleep during a part that didn't seem too interesting. Draco watched her chest rise and fall evenly, her lips parted with every exhale and he sighed. He picking the book up of the floor and frowned. It was a potions textbook. Draco almost laughed when he noticed which potions she was researching.

The Maurader's Map was scribbled into the margin of one of the pages. Draco raised an eyebrow and his eyes flitted over the rest of the page. The Armortentia potion was explained.

 _Draco didn't move away from her after what they'd done —_ and what they would do later that night, in the morning and even in the afternoon — _and his arms remained on either side of her, pressing down onto her breasts._

He groaned…

Her eyes shot open. "W—what?" she mumbled, slowly rolling over and looking around the room. "Where am I?"

"Where you were before," Draco answered dryly, rubbing soothing circles over his warm cheeks. "In the room that gives you things."

Her eyes went wide and her face paled as she looked at him. She looked like a dear caught in headlights. He was almost amused by the pink colour that slowly spread from her neck to her cheeks. She was obviously embarrassed.

o.O.o

Hermione glanced up at the tall form of Draco Malfoy and felt the blood rush from her face. She had done enough last night to be horrified or, at least, embarrassed. The scent of rosemary wafted down from his wet hair. He had an unusual shampoo, but Hermione realised with a shock she thought he smelled nice.

Her face turned pink at that thought.

"What are you doing here?" she asked slowly.

"The same thing I suppose." he admitted. "I wanted a moment for myself."

"We could do the research together." he told her, leaning against the desk and she bit her lower-lip. "I'm quite sure it all would go a hell of a lot faster if we worked on it together."

Hermione nodded. "I'm sorry, for before." she admitted, cursing the alcohol that obviously made her limits fall away. "I shouldn't have—"

"You were upset?" he nodded. "Yeah, I noticed."

"Have you got new information?" she asked, pulling her bag on her lap and twiddled with the straps.

"No," he admitted, before making a show of glancing around. "Where is this?"

"My father's study." she admitted. "I feel save here."

Malfoy nodded and she blew a lock of hair out of her face. Ron was at Quidditch practice and Harry was sulking somewhere at Gryffindor Tower. She hadn't been able to get involved into Parvati's and Lavender's conversation about Ron's skill — well, Hermione didn't really know what skill — and had left as soon as the subject was breached. After all she had to share a dormitory with the girls and she didn't want fuel their animosity even more. Thereby she easily got upset as of lately. Lavender was very good at it and Harry was still moaning about the Gryffindor team's loss of the Seeker. She hadn't expected for Draco Malfoy to seek out the comforts of the room of requirement as well. She was rather surprised as well that he hadn't bolted the moment he'd spotted her.

"Does _everyone_ in Gryffindor knows this is here?" he asked suddenly and Hermione felt her eyes widen.

"I—" she started, before shrugging. "No, just a few people."

Malfoy nodded thoughtfully. She noticed he was holding the Potions' book she was researching and sighed softly. "It's vastly useless." she told him, sitting up and pressing her back into the cushions. "I can't seem to find a book that covers the right potions."

"Well, I don't expect the accessible parts of the library would hold the right books." Malfoy admitted.

Hermione's eyes widened. "The restricted section?" she breathed softly, and Malfoy nodded.

"I would think so," he answered, before riffling through the book. "These ingredients; Aconite, asphodel, wormwood, conifers… They're all easily accessible and even more importantly the love potions in this—" he continued raising the book in the air for emphasises, "—are not illegal."

She was rather surprised of his vast knowledge, but he was wrong— sort of. "All love potions are illegal."

Malfoy shook his head. "No, _administrating_ Love Potions are illegal. Brewing them is not."

Hermione opened her mouth and closed it again. He shrugged; "I'm good at finding loopholes."

"So it seems," she muttered, before raising an expectant eyebrow. "But administrating Veritaserum is—"

"It's not a felony." he said shrugging and Hermione laughed.

"No, I suppose it's not." she admitted, before glancing at her watch. "I'm going to lunch."

Malfoy's smile grew broader. Her eyes widened and she cocked her head. "I don't want to go to lunch do I?"

"On contraire, you just don't want to _have_ lunch."

Hermione jumped up and crossed the room with swift steps. "You didn't even tell me beforehand." she whispered, slightly hurt and Malfoy shrugged.

"No one would suspect you that way."

Hermione mulled over his answer, glared at him, before leaving the room of requirement. The students around her were dragging their feet, practically already tasting the weekend, as they did on every Friday. Hermione swiftly went down the stairs crossed the Entrance Hall and stepped into the Great Hall.

It was a chaos. Most of the Gryffindors were red faced, the Ravenclaws were laughing boisterously, so were the Slytherins and the Hufflepuffs were glancing around with deep frowns on their faces. They obviously were not in on the veritaserum. Than again the Ravenclaws shouldn't have been either, but Hermione deducted they probably figured it out.

Hermione carefully stepped closer, noticing the many angry and hurt faces. She glanced over the students; noticed angry, unshed tears in Lavender's eyes — a stab of satisfaction ran through her. She pin-pointed Harry and Ron both pale, although Ron's cheeks had an unhealthy flush to them.

"Harry, why do I say things like this?" Ron asked and Hermione cocked her head curiously.

"Because you're an insensitive idiot, who cares more about a girl's attention than their feelings?" Harry retorted, before clapping his hands over his mouth. "Why do I keep saying things like this?"

She couldn't help the satisfied smile spreading over her face. Slowly, almost cat-like, she moved closer and slipped into the seat opposite of the two boys. "Are you two all right?" she asked smiling and they glanced at her surprised.

"Not good." Harry admitted, "I can't stop saying things bluntly."

"I see," she nodded, feeling slightly sorry for Harry and turned to Ron. "And you? How are you doing, Ron? Tell me; what did you do?"

"I'm not doing dandy, Hermione." he said angrily. "I'm very upset actually. I told Lavender I thought, and still think by the way, that her boobs are only average and she got angry with me."

Further up the table she heard Lavender hiss, before a cup with tea crashed against the wall behind Ron's head and Hermione hid her laugh behind her hands.

"Hermione?" Harry asked and she inhaled and exhaled loudly, getting her emotions back under her control.

"Yes, Harry?"

"What's going on?" he asked and Hermione shrugged and shook her head. Harry glanced at his goblet and then back at her. She could practically see the gears in his brain work. She was almost surprised when she noticed his eyes widen.

"Verita—"

"Oh, fancy seeing you all here." Malfoy's voice cut through his exclamation. Hermione glanced over her shoulder right into his condescending face. His smirk was broad and his eyes were alive for the first time since the incident. Hermione cocked her head and pursed her lips. Apparently pushing buttons and seeing everyone at their lowest point — Ernie McLaggen told Parvati he never slept with boy before and he was curious, before turning a dark shade of red — made him feel slightly powerful.

"You're a little sociopath, you know that." Hermione confided to him, but her voice lacked the hostility. She didn't really care

He smirked before belonging to the drink; "Not thirsty, Sweetheart?"

She stuck her tongue out and Malfoy smirked again. "All right boys," he started. "Who from you has drugged my stash after your last Quidditch game?"

Ron jumped up; "You are a nasty, stuck-up— How the fuck should we know, we only had a laugh about it."

"Than whom of you does know?" he asked the table and several students squeaked.

Colin Creevey, a stumbling over-excited fourth-year raised his hand. "I do. I think at least that I do."

Pansy Parkinson stepped up next to Malfoy; sporting a suspiciously mirthful expression. "Well then, what do you know?" she asked excitedly; rubbing her hands together and

"I saw Leo Jordan fooling around with vials and he told one of his mates that anyone who drank it would not know what hit him." Colin explained, before paling. "Why am I telling you this?"

Harry's eyes went wide. "They fed us truth serum." he whispered, before standing up, stalking around the table and pushing his wand under Malfoy's chin. "You bloody wanker, you dosed us with Veritaserum!"

"Bugger off, Potter!" Malfoy snarled, glancing around the table. Leo Jordan was wheezing, his lower-lip bleeding and his fingers curled into fists. He shot up from his seat and stalked out of the Great Hall. Malfoy looked like he wanted to follow the dark-skinned boy, but Harry still had his wand pressed against his neck.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, before pushing his wand hand down. "Are you insane, you can't just go around hexing people!"

"You were in on this!" Ron suddenly snarled pointing a trembling finger at her. "You're a traitor!" he continued, Professor McGonagall came their way. "I can't believe I thought we could work. You are not even that spectacular looking, but—"

"What's going on here?" she asked briskly, glancing around her furious students.

"He poisoned us." Ron exclaimed loudly, pointing a finger at Malfoy.

"I did no such thing!" Malfoy retorted, before glancing at a very suspicious-looking Minerva McGongall. "Thereby, can you prove anything?"

Hermione felt her lips quirk. That had been the exact thing McGonagall had said when Malfoy had told her one of the Gryffindors must have drugged his hidden stash of alcohol. McGonagall's mouth turned white from the force of which she used to press them together.

"Severus," she hissed.

Serverus Snape appeared next to her. His beady eyes gleaming dangerously and Hermione slowly sat back down onto the Gryffindor bench. Professor McGonagall whispered something and Snape looked livid.

"Certainly not, Minerva, but I will deal with this." he snapped curtly, before beckoning Malfoy along. "Draco!"

 _To be continued…_

* * *

 **A/N: Veritaserum seemed like a solid plan… Or not… Either way I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Technically I don't think Love Potions are forbidden, which I don't understand given how easily the potion can be abused to manipulate others (just like the Imperius Curse), so therefore a few are illegal (at least at school).**

 **Please comment! Let me know what you think!**

 **Harry Potter does not belong to me, but to J.K. Rowling.**


	9. Chapter 8, The potioner

**A/N: Thank you all for the comments. I enjoyed them very much!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Eight, The Portioner**_

 **D** raco Malfoy plopped moodily into the nearest chair and slammed his bag onto the desk with far more force than was necessary. The cold of the Dungeons had seeped into his bones and Draco shivered. Why he had to come to Snape's office was beyond him. He did not have anything to do with the Veritaserum incident, but he supposed it might have helped that several students — all Gryffindors; which shouldn't have counted as anything more than suspicions — immediately pointed their fingers at him.

Severus Snape, Head of Slytherin House and close friend to the family, was pacing in front of the many jars he held with all kinds of gross things Draco had never really looked at. He was rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

"I can't believe—" he started glaring at Draco, before starting to rub at his temples instead.

"Professor," Draco started, but Snape's glare made him swallow the rest of his words.

"Minerva wants me to expel you!" Snape snapped, and Draco felt his mouth slack open.

"Expel me?" Draco echoed, before feeling the anger bubble up in his blood. "Is this the other way around or what? I'm the victim!" he snapped.

"Don't use that tone with me," Snape warned and Draco snorted. "How is it that you work yourself into trouble at every turn?"

Draco snorted again. "Half of the time, Professor, you don't know about it. And thereby I had nothing to do with this. You cannot prove otherwise."

"No, I certainly can't. At least you didn't take anything from my privet stock—"

"I didn't take anything." he snapped. "I didn't get the potion, I didn't brew it and I certainly didn't administer it."

"But you know who was involved, don't you?" he asked, slowly lowering himself into a leather armchair in front of his desk. Draco narrowed his eyes, before crossing his arms over his chest.

The corner of Snape's eyes quirked upwards. "You should be happy I cannot prove your involvement, boy, but rest assure, Minerva will be on your case."

Draco rolled his eyes leaning back in his seat. The sooty scent of the fire hung rather thickly into the office and Draco exhaled loudly. He eventually sat up in bed and grimaced at how heavy his head felt. He was tired. He hadn't even had one decent night of sleep since _the incident_ , and he could do without Snape's suspicions. Leo Jordan had probably bunkered himself in into Gryffindor Tower. Although Draco doubted he had done it. Draco had never personally insulted the boy. Had never had any previous interactions.

"I wish to go back to my dormitory. Are we done here?" Draco asked slowly rubbing circles along his temples.

"Yes," Snape muttered, glancing unseeingly into the fire. "You may go!"

"Wonderful!" Draco retorted, before stomping out of the office and into the dim lit corridor. The stone door concealed in the wall recessed and slid to the side. Draco emerged with a loud sigh, attracting the attention from Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson.

"Please tell me you went after the git," Draco asked, sagging back in one of the high-backed chairs in front of the elaborately carved mantelpiece. With a careless flick of his wrist, he had the fire crackling cheerfully again and waited for Pansy to sit down next to him.

"We did," she nodded, slipping into a chair next to him.

"And?"

Pansy groaned and Draco sneered. "He found the phials which had the potion." she started miserably.

"Found?"

"Yeah," she sniffed disdainfully. "Apparently he deducted what they were after the bloody shag story became public and bragged to his friends about them."

"Bloody wanker," Blaise muttered, stirring the fire with a fireplace poker and glowered at the glowing flames.

"But he had nothing to do with it?" Draco clarified.

"No, he didn't. It would actually help if we knew _what_ potion it was." Theodore said. "Some kind of love Potion is hardly helpful when you are researching it."

"Father says the ingredients, even the illegal ones, are stocked in high quantities," Draco admitted.

"He wrote you a letter this morning, didn't he?" Pansy asked, tracing her fingers over his arms. He normally didn't mind if she did that — even though she knew it was all part of her plan to win him over —, but today he wasn't in the mood and shifted tiredly in his seat, pulling his arm away.

"My father isn't pleased," he decided.

"You should hear my father," Theo muttered, absentmindedly tracing a scar on the back of his hand. "I will not be going home this at Easter."

"You and me both, Theo," Draco retorted, before resting his head in his hands. He would find the people responsible for drugging his Fire whisky bottles. He didn't care what he had to do. He would find them; track them down, and he would do it personally. His jaw hurt from the force he used to grind his teeth together. Yes, it wasn't a matter of _if_ , it was a matter of when he would find the culprit. And when he did, hell would break loose.

o.O.o

After lunch, Hermione decided to spent her free afternoon in the library. A deep silence permeated the spacious library of Hogwarts a History. Hermione Jean Granger sat into her usual corner, several large volumes open in front of her. She had slumped down against a bookcase and sat cross-legged on the floor surrounded by parchment. Ancient, rare tombs surrounded her as she carefully sorted through the ones she had deemed as usable.

Draco Malfoy, who was in a sullen mood, was seated on one of the lounge chairs while reading an old potions book. He had appeared out of nowhere; asking if she'd heard something from the other Gryffindors — besides Ron's insults and Harry's silent morning —, but she had to disappoint him. He didn't disappoint her, though, taking a book from her stack and started to riffle through it; no doubt skiving off a class — but Hermione couldn't find herself to care.

She had no doubt he was rather unhappy at having to assist an insufferable Muggle-born witch with such a tedious task as doing research — even though he was the one who offered —, but so far he kept that opinion to himself.

She smiled. They were doing the research together to ease his father's work.

She knew he found something when he pursed his lips, knew there was something that worried him, as he glanced at a parchment. But he kept his mouth shut. Waiting for his father to tell him what he found, she supposed. She sighed, glancing at his white-blond hair. It was rather hard to demand information from the Slytherin when he wasn't willing to share. Malfoy gave a whole new meaning to the term stubbornly tight-lipped.

Closing the book with a thud, she put the large tomb to her right side, with the other books she intended to return when she noticed a thin book. It was dark brown leather, wrinkled with age; golden trimmed lettering. The words on the front were in runes and Hermione felt involuntary a tingle of excitement run through her.

She thumbed the edge of a yellowed page, frowning at the introduction to the book. Hermione turned to the back of the book and saw what the introduction was all about. A smile lit up her face as she started to browse through it in earnest.

"I've got it!" she gasped, glancing up from the book and glancing towards Malfoy. He snapped his book shut got from his seat and staled towards her.

"Pearl Dust, Ashwinder eggs, Rose thorns, Belladonna, Wormwood and Aconite," Hermione whispered, and Malfoy slowly lowered himself on the ground with a displeased expression. "It's called Amor Virtus."

Malfoy glanced at the page and nodded. "All the right ingredients."

"Professor Snape was right, it is very similar to the Armortentia potion!" she whispered softly.

"You spoke to Snape?" Malfoy asked with a sneer and Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm surprised he told you."

"I think he wanted me to leave," she admitted.

"I never understood why he became a teacher," Malfoy stated. "I certainly don't think he likes being one. Doesn't like children either."

Hermione laughed. " _I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderhead as I usually have to teach_." she quoted still laughing.

"A yes, his famous opening speech," Malfoy said. "Scared the living lights out of half of his students."

"Not out of you!" Hermione laughed. "He took an instant liking to you!"

"Of course he did, he has known me for all his life," Draco said laughing. "And I have to say I was a most innocent and cute boy."

"Hard to imagine now." she retorted and he raised an eyebrow.

"What did you look like then?" he asked rhetorically. "Because all I can picture is a little version of you with hair resembling a bird nest and a book in front of her nose all of the time." he looked her up and down. "A lot like now actually."

Hermione huffed, "You're on your way to get slapped, Malfoy."

"How Muggle of you."

She glowered at him, but he only seemed more entertained than anything else. Malfoy pulled the book out of her hands and flipped through the pages. His eyes flitted over the recipe and Hermione watched him.

"Aconite and Belladonna," he muttered.

"Both poisoned plants," Hermione admitted. "But Belladonna was also used as a medicine before the Middle Ages. I think they use it in eye-drops as well." she continued, before flushing. "It dilates the pupils of the eyes to make them appear seductive."

Malfoy laughed. "Right," he said shaking his head. "I will write my father."

Hermione watched him as he stretched cat-like, his shirt tightened almost imperceptibly around his body. The muscles in his back rippled and Hermione couldn't help watching the breadth of his shoulders.

She ignored the swirling in her stomach. It went beyond a physical ache, pulsating and she shifted on the floor; her stomach clenched. Malfoy raked his hand through his hair and glanced back at her. Hermione's face flushed and her teeth worried her lower lip. Malfoy's eyes stayed a second too long on her lips and he shook his head, quickly leaving the library.

She breathed out slowly. She wasn't supposed to have noticed the wide breadth of his shoulders, nor the long line of his torso. She definitely shouldn't have noticed his trousers slung low to narrow hips and that he stuffed his hands into his pockets when he was thinking. When he was nervous or unsure he would push his hands into his pockets.

Dinner at the Gryffindor table that night was a tense affair at best. Hermione had made a cursory appearance in the Great Hall. She hastily scooped baked potatoes and chicken salad on her plate and silently listened to her Housemates whispers. Ron sat next to Lavender, softly explaining that he hadn't meant to hurt her; a comforting hand on her leg and Hermione smirked when Lavender batted his hand away.

Several truces, friendships and even romantic relationships had suffered considerable and none of the girls was really saying anything. Hermione watched Amy Geagen awkwardly push her food around her plate — having told the whole table she had a burning love for red-cheeked Hannah Abbott — and Amanda Levere had told her best friend — a girl whose name Hermione didn't know — she was an annoying drama queen and Hermione feared that would be the end of their friendship.

Hermione scraped her fork noisily against her plate, staring around the table. No one was looking at her, not guiltily nor angry. She glanced at Fred and George, they seemed rather amused by what had happened. Nothing ever faced them; a bit of truth serum didn't face them either so it seemed.

"I have difficulty believing you would do something like this." Harry grumbled; the first sentence someone spoke to her that evening.

"I didn't do this," she responded. "I wasn't in on it either, but I figured it out either way."

"But you weren't going to tell us, were you?" Ron asked and Hermione felt a muscle in her cheek twitch.

"You have been ignoring me for weeks," she whispered back. "Have been calling me names. What did you expect?"

"Some loyalty!" Ron snapped and she glared.

"You shouldn't expect something from someone else when you yourself are incapable of it," she snapped back. "I'm done with this conversation."

Hermione swung her bag onto her shoulder with a slight grunt — the edge bumping against Ron's shoulder — and left the Great Hall with quick steps. The Hallway was crowded, as usual, and Hermione zig-zagged through the masses with an annoyed frown. The mass of students moved, mostly Gryffindors when she started to climb the stairs, like a rush-hour traffic. The staircase suddenly moved to a different location and Hermione hugged her bag to her chest. Peeves the Poltergeist floated above them, and Hermione worried her lower lip, before holding her bag over her head. A gaggle of fourth-year girls screamed when he started to throw ink phials to their heads and Hermione rudely elbowed her way past them when the stairs stopped moving.

Although she loved the castle the moving staircases could be very unhelpful. Hermione found herself rubbing at her sour elbow and glanced around. In the distance she heard as Peeves cackled in the delight and winced when she heard a loud splattering sound — she didn't even want to know what had just fallen onto his victims.

"—pull at me!" a male voice snapped and Hermione realised she wasn't alone. With a frown, she tracked further into the corridor.

The bathroom door stood ajar, flooded. Although this wasn't Myrtle's haunted toilet, her haunting didn't extend to just the girls' bathroom on the second floor. Hermione hiked up the hem of her robes and stepped into the bathroom.

"George, if we include that the effects will last too long."

Hermione almost groaned. Of course, it would be them. She had half the mind to turn around and pretend she hadn't noticed them, but she was a Prefect for crying out loud, she couldn't pretend they weren't there.

"Boys," she started, mentally already wishing for her bed, "this is a girls' bathroom, you can't be in here."

Fred and George stiffened. They were seated in the middle of the bathroom, the water repelled by a simple repelling charm. Both boys were sitting cross-legged on the tile bathroom floor and tried, but failed, to hide the smoking cauldron behind them.

"Hello Hermione, ouch, George watch what you're doing!" Fred started, sticking the injured finger into his mouth.

"We were just—"

"Doing experiments for your future joke shop?" Hermione finished, "I know, you two do that a lot, but that doesn't matter, you're still not allowed in a girls' bathroom."

"Well, which girl would ever come in here?" George asked cheerfully and Hermione noticed he too had been burned by the cauldron.

"Stop hiding the cauldron, I've already seen it," Hermione told them tiredly.

Fred sighed and nodded at his brother. George gave it a shove and the translucent Potion sloshed over the rim. Hermione watched with mild irritation as it spread over the floor and was absorbed into the hem of her robes. "Just great," she muttered annoyed.

"Sorry," George muttered.

Hermione shook her head tiredly and decided she didn't want to know what they were making now — the last time she had caught them they had tried to feed her a piece of chocolate filled with something that made you violently sick.

"Just clean this mess up," Hermione said, waving her hand dismissively. "Consider this to be a warning. Again."

"Thanks, Hermione!" they answered simultaneously and started to transfer their potion into phials. Hermione shook her head. Her feet started to grow cold into her damp flats and she really wanted a long warm soak. Leaving the bathroom — and the two boys — she made her way up to Gryffindor Tower.

There hung a tense silence in the air. Hermione passed Ron, who raised an eyebrow when he noticed her stepping through the Portrait hole, but she steadily moved past him. Her bedroom dormitory was deserted, save for Amy Geagen, who was curled up on her bed, curtains closed around the four-poster bed. Hermione didn't really know Amy, but she did feel bad for the other girl. Although Hermione suspected that the Slytherins had seen this as some form of payback, Hermione didn't think she had anything to do with the Love Potion.

Hermione wriggled her toes in her damp shoes and sighed. Stripping out of her clothes and cursing when she noticed the discoloured spot on the hem of her robe she threw them all onto her bed and all but stomped into the bathroom. She slipped slightly on the white tiles and dunked her head under the hot spray of water.

Her head felt weird and her eyelashes felt like they were glued together. As she listened to the water rhythmically beat against the tile floor, she started to massage her temples. This was a long day. Her eyes drooped closer every time she leant her forehead against the wall.

With a loud moan, she closed the tap and watched the water drops travel down her body. Following a small water droplet with her index finger, she sighed again.

The only thing she had to do now was waiting for Malfoy. The idea alone was weird enough; 'waiting for Malfoy'. Her eyes flitting over the tile floor before she snatched her bathrobe from the hook and excited the bathroom.

She dropped herself unceremoniously onto the bed and glanced at the canopy above her head.

 _Tonight, after curfew in the room of hidden things; I know who sold the potion._

That night, in a very uncharacteristic move, Hermione Granger snuck quietly out of Gryffindor Tower and wandered down the hall. She hurried down the flights of stairs, through the corridors and rounded the corner. She hurried down the seventh-floor corridor and skidded to a halt before the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. She looked at the blank wall opposite, then paced the hall tree times before a dark polished door appeared on the wall. With a huge smirk, she slipped inside.

"I'm here," she announced, rather worried Draco Malfoy's room of need was a dark study. She glanced at the dark red cedar desk and crossed her arms over her chest. He was leaning against the window sill, hands pushed in the pockets of his dark trousers, lips pursed.

"Malfoy?"

"Yes," he muttered, shaking his head and stepping away from the window. He caught her curious stare and smirked. "It's my father's old study, but I got it when he got a new one."

"You got a study?" Hermione asked, perching on the edge of the desk.

"Yes," he answered, falling back into a comfy leather chair. "Do you know a man named John Peterson?"

Hermione frowned, tapping her fingers against the hard wooden table-board. She was quite sure she had never heard of John Peterson before, but judging by his face she ought to have. Hermione wasn't sure if that was, knowing Malfoy's circle, a good thing. "No, I don't think I do," she admitted and Malfoy nodded thoughtfully.

"I didn't really expect you to, either," he answered, "Have you ever been to Knocturn Alley?"

"No,"

"It's different, and that's when you put it lightly. It's located opposite of Gringotts. John Peterson has a shop there, next to Borgin and Burkes. He sells— well _illegal_ merchandises is the best way to describe it."

"He sold it."

"Yep, he is practically the only one who orders all the supplies needed." Malfoy nodded. "Thereby he's well-known for his potions. Father said his whole family has been in the business. They've been selling potions since forever and most of them are frowned upon nowadays."

"Of course they are frowned upon." Hermione snapped. "How can a Love Potion not be frowned upon?"

"Granger, you do realise that love potions are not considered as illegal, do you?" Malfoy asked, his eyes slightly widening. "It is at school, don't get me wrong, you're are not allowed to use it on a student, but it's only, and let me stress _only_ , frowned upon."

"That's disgusting!"

"I don't make the laws." Malfoy shrugged.

"Is that why we don't have a culprit yet?" she asked suddenly. "Is that why everyone thinks it's a laughing matter?"

Malfoy nodded. "Perhaps not the students raised by Muggles—" and despite everything, the way he so politely rephrased to Muggles was slightly amusing, and she smiled wistfully "—but most of us, of them, tend to think people should be more careful in what they eat or drink. It's your own responsibility."

"That's victim blaming,"

"And that's how it goes here." he admitted.

Hermione felt slightly sick. She knew the Wizarding world was backwards, but how could it not class love potions as illegal? She felt even sicker when she thought about how many people might be drugged in compliance.

"You're turning green," Malfoy observed worriedly.

"I think I'm going to be sick," she muttered. He was up on his feet, pulled her off the table and deposited her into his chair, before conjuring a bucket and pushing it in her lap. She leant her chin on the rim of the bucket and waited, hoped, for the nausea to subside. When her stomach settled again, she let out a long relieved sigh.

"Back to John Peterson." she whispered.

"Yes, well, we need his client list, don't we. See which student, or perhaps even a relative or a friend ordered that Potion."

"So you don't think someone could have made it?" Hermione asked.

"No, the few who could, would never stoop so low and thereby with the amount of dust that had gathered over that book and the section it was in, I'd reckon it hasn't been used recently."

Hermione nodded, slightly impressed and strangely relieved they weren't grasping at loose straws. Whenever she and Ron (and even Harry) were trying to figure something out — a mystery of some sort — she was always the only one, thinking logical.

"Anyway, we have to go and visit him."

"We?"

"Yes, my father can't do it."

"Why not?" Hermione demanded, crossing her arms. She certainly didn't want to meet the man who supplied the love potion that had gotten them into this mess. What if she tried to hex him? She glanced at Malfoy; what if he tried to hex him? What if they both did?

"Because my father has temper issues, that's why." he explained.

"He threatened him before didn't he?" Hermione supplied.

"Yes, among other things, so it would be more productive if _we_ were to go." he admitted loosely.

"When are we expected?"

"Six o'clock, January the twentieth," he answered, "Hogsmeade weekend."

"How will we get there?" she asked.

"Floo network," Malfoy answered, his knee bumping against hers. She was too aware of it and felt her cheeks turn pink. "We use the Hogshead Floo network and go to Diagon Ally."

"The Hogshead?"

"Another pub in Hogsmeade," Malfoy answered, tapping his fingers against the cover of the little diary and glanced at her through half-lidded eyes. "Not so much folk in there, so we won't get caught."

She nodded her head. "Yes, I know that." she answered thoughtfully, "That could work."

"It has to,"

 _To be continued…_

* * *

 **A/N: Chapter seven, we got another clue. Please comment! What do you think?**

 **Through my father's eyes will be updated this weekend. I'm sorry for the delay for those of you who were hoping for an update sooner. I had a few tests and this came back faster from the spelling control!**

 **Harry Potter does not belong to me, but to J.K. Rowling**


	10. Chapter 9, Black Orchids

_**Chapter Nine, black orchids**_

" **H** ermione, are you quite certain you're feeling all right?" Ginny Weasley asked, her hair bound together at the nape of her neck and her lashes tinted with the faintest hint of mascara.

Hermione looked up from her salad, her fork dangling from her fingers. Every muscle felt tense and her face was slightly flushed. She straightened up in her chair, pushing her dark hair over her shoulders and glanced at the youngest Weasley.

"I'm fine, thank you, Ginny."

"You look pale," Ginny admitted, pressing the back of her right hand against Hermione's cheek. "You're a bit warm as well."

Hermione smiled and slowly put her fork down. The ring of metal against china made her flinch. Harry and Ron were huddled together, their faces close enough to touch. They were seated at the end of the Gryffindor table, creases in their brows and varying expressions on their faces. Ginny looked away guiltily; she always did lately, Ron looked angry and smug and Harry looked worried. It had taken three days before they had started talking to her again. Ron remained cold, his relation with Lavender rocky at best, but they seemed to be rebuilding.

Hermione sighed, before joining the boys, Ginny trailed after her with a slight raise of her eyebrows. "Something the matter, guys?"

"As if we would tell that to a traitor." Ron spat, Harry glared at his friend and Hermione's jaw tensed.

She breathed in slowly — 'think about your breathing exercises, Hermione, breathe, just breathe' — and clenched and unclenched her hands. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Ron. Harry, what's going on?"

"D.A. meeting after dinner," Harry whispered in her ear and Hermione nodded in understanding, before stiffening.

"I can't," she whispered, her hands curling into fists.

"What?"

"I can't come tonight." she explained, barely repressing a shudder.

"Why is that?" Ron asked, not looking too interested in her excuse. Hermione looked up. Draco Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle again, entered the Great Hall. His face was unreadable but Hermione noticed his eyebrows raise slightly when his eyes landed on her. Malfoy inclined his head a bit and went to sit beside Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott.

"It's Hogsmeade weekend," she said matter-of-factly. "I have plans."

Ron's cheeks turned pink and Hermione coldly stared at him. She seized the jug of pumpkin juice, causing it to slosh around, almost spilling over the rim and filled her goblet with shaking hands.

"With whom?"

"I—"

"With me," Ginny said. "We were having a girls' night."

Ron frowned. "What do you mean? Why can't you come to D.A.? I mean who cares if—" Harry let his head drop into his hands "—you have a girls' night. You can postpone it, can't you?"

"We could," Ginny nodded sweetly, before standing up. "But we don't."

The younger girl pushed her arms into the sleeves of her coat and Hermione exhaled softly. Harry had taken off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. "This Malfoy business is coming between us," he said softly. "You used to hate him, you know."

Hermione snorted indignantly. "I've never hated him." she defended slowly, getting up and pulled her bag up.

"Could have fooled me," Ron told her.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It might have escaped your notice, but what good will this stupid animosity bring me?" she asked slowly.

"Have you forgotten what his father has done?"

"Draco Malfoy is not his father! And moreover, I'm done with this stupid conversation!" she snapped back, before stomping away from the table. Several students glanced at her and Hermione quickened her step.

"You okay?" Ginny asked falling into step with her friend. "I thought you might try and murder Ron. I wouldn't blame you if you did give it a try."

Hermione snorted, burying her nose into her scarf. "He isn't worth a stint in Azkaban."

Ginny laughed loudly. "So who are you meeting?" she asked slyly.

"Malfoy, we've got a lead. I will tell you all about it when I actually know something." Hermione admitted tiredly.

The weather had turned cold clouds regularly filled the sky. Snow was falling thick and heavy in the Scottish Highlands. The mountains around the castle were barely visible through the thick snow and a frigid wind blew over the grounds. The lake had frozen solid, and the students quickened who had planned on a trip to Hogwarts quickened their step towards the gates.

The two girls crossed the courtyard, huddling deeper inside their winter cloaks. The snow creaked under Hermione's boots, and she fought to keep her balance as the howling wind buffeted her body. Her bag felt heavy on her shoulder and she silently longed to be back into the Great Hall. With the cold, only the Great Hall was remotely comfortable. The castle remained cold and the bitter wind constantly rattled the windows.

Hermione didn't understand why the teachers didn't teach them better means to keep warm than using a Self-Warming Charm. Not even the fires in the Common room truly kept the cold out.

The little town of Hogsmeade was standing like a postcard; the snow which had fallen over the night covered the cobbled streets with a thick layer of pristine white. A few footprint trails, from the shopkeepers, disrupted the snow, but otherwise, it was almost completely intact.

In a matter of seconds, the street was full of Hogwarts students. Ginny eyed the sweet shop hungrily and Hermione smiled. Hogwarts must have played a large part in the business decision to start a sweet shop in the little village. Even if the students were not allowed to visit weekly, the students still bought so much in one day, Hermione was sure it made up for the rest of the week.

"Can we?" Ginny asked, rubbing her hands together happily, "Do you have time to— you know to go inside."

"Sure, that's okay," she nodded, following Ginny to the shop. They had to push themselves through the throng of people at the entrance of the shop. The shop was packed with students, pondering which sweet they were going to take. Hermione passed the shelves of creamy chunks of nougat and honey-coloured toffees.

Hermione watched Ginny fill a paper bag with Fizzing Whizzbees. Hermione fingered a sugar quill and pursed her lips. Her parents were dentists and therefore she had practically been raised sugar-free. Her parents always told her that sweets rot the teeth and she was not really allowed to have them, but her stomach clenched and her gums itched somewhat.

"Are you going to take something?" Ginny asked, raising her eyebrows and pointing her index finger at the sugar quills.

Hermione smiled, before filling her own paper bag with sugar quills. They manoeuvred through the crowd to the counter. Hermione placed a few gold coins on the wooden table board, about to pay for Ginny as well, but the younger girl shook her head, showing her a few golden coins of her own.

"I've got it from Fred and George," Ginny explained, pushing a lock of red hair behind her ear. "They've gotten Harry's prize money from last year."

"And they've spoiled you a bit? How unlike them!"

"I suppose," Ginny admitted, following Hermione out of the shop.

"Do you have time for a Butterbeer?" Ginny asked while Hermione glanced at her wristwatch. "I would love one."

"Sure," Hermione nodded. "I'm supposed to meet him at Five, so we have more than enough time."

Madame Rozemerta's shop was crowded and noisy like always. Hermione gratefully stepped into the welcome warmth of the pub. She shook the snow off her cloak and batted the silvery ice out of her curls. They took a seat near the fire, cheerfully-blazing and warmth spreading over her back. She pulled her mittens off and stuck her hands out, in front of the crackling flames.

"What can I get you, girls?" Madam Rozemerta asked, stopping next to her table.

"Two Butterbeers, please."

Hermione took a sip of her drink and closed her eyes in bliss. There was almost nothing better than a warm Butterbeer during the cold winter days. The warm glow filled her insides and she sighed softly.

"Didn't you have plans with your friends, Gin?" Hermione asked.

Ginny snorted. "I don't really have so many plans. Mikael is rather angry and he's telling people I'm so easy," she whispered, rubbing at her cheeks. "Not in my face of course, and I did already hex him, but I know he does talk to others, and it's not favourably."

"I'm so sorry, Gin!"

"It's okay," Ginny shrugged and Hermione shook her head. It was not 'okay'. The way people treated her, treated Ginny, because of something that had been completely out of their control was disgusting. She felt a flash of that now familiar anger and was glad when Madam Rozemerta brought two butterbeers to their table.

"What are you and Malfoy planning?" Ginny asked when the silence became awkward. She had her hands clasped around her tankard and her lips pursed.

"Malfoy figured out who sold the Potion," Hermione explained. "I suppose being from an old and _noble_ house had its benefits. Either way, the man selling these Potions is practically the only one making it."

"You're so much better at doing research," Ginny admitted off-handedly. "I tried cataloguing the books, tried picking them at random and even tried asking Madam Pomfrey, which I'll never do again, mind you, but I just found nothing."

Hermione smiled. "You don't like to read."

"No,"

"Doing research is only fun and you can only take time for it when you enjoy it, at least a little," Hermione told the younger girl.

"But you do think you can get the name?" Ginny asked, taking a sip of her butterbeer.

"I'm not sure," Hermione shrugged, "I'm not sure why Malfoy involves me into this anyway."

"You are predominant," Ginny said. "Don't get me wrong, I love you Hermione, but it is true. I dare say he thinks you can nag the answer straight out of him."

"Cute," Hermione muttered, sniffing her own tankard. "Very cute, Gin."

They drank the rest of their Butterbeers in silence, listening mindlessly to the other students. From the windows Hermione noticed the snow falling thick and heavy. She snuggled deeper into her woollen sweater and blew into her tankard. Ginny glanced at Harry with a grimace and Hermione was once again assaulted by how deep her feelings for that boy actually went.

o.O.o

When late afternoon came around, the temperature had plummeted and the had sky cleared. Shivering, Hermione pulled her cloak more tightly around herself and walked on. Reaching into her rucksack, she pulled a sugar quill out of her bag and sucked onto it. Periodically, she glanced up to check the landscape ahead of her. The sun was swiftly lowering onto the horizon.

Hermione slowly stepped into the inn, rubbing her hands together. The bar was small and very dirty, with bay windows. Hermione could barely see through them. Malfoy, his hood pulled over his trademark blond hair, was standing near one rough wooden table. Two stubs of candles were sitting on its surface and Hermione almost laughed when she noticed the annoyed sneer on his face.

The floor was dirty, so dirty it looked like there was not really a floor at all. Hermione crossed the room.

"There you are,"

"There I am," Malfoy agreed.

"Why the hood?"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow and glanced around. Several customers had their faces hidden and Hermione nodded. "Right, got it."

Aberforth stood behind the bar cleaning a cup with a rather dirty rag. Hermione pursed her lips and shook her head; slightly disgusted. The hearth was lit and Malfoy pulled a pot of Floo Powder out of his bag.

"You know how to—" he started, suddenly unsure if this Muggle-born had ever used the Floo network before

Hermione rolled her eyes, took a bit of the glittery powder and threw it into the fireplace. The powder turned the flames an emerald green and Hermione walked into the flames: the flames licked at her limbs, but felt just like a summer breeze; "Diagon Alley,"

Spinning fast, Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the roaring noise in her ears disappear. She appeared at the aforementioned destination in a flurry of limbs, stumbling out and tracing soot over the wooden floor.

Malfoy followed gracefully, not even stumbling when he stepped out of the fireplace. He glanced around imperiously, before pulling her up at her arm and raised an eyebrow. "You all right, Granger?"

Hermione nodded, glancing up at him with a small smile and followed him out of the public room, past Tom the old Bartender, and out of the pub.

The hour was growing late and Hermione almost knocked over a short bald man in her haste to get out of the pub. It was a good deal colder now and the light was nearly gone. They hurried to the back courtyard, only lit by an enchanted torch, hit the correct bricks to let them through into Diagon Alley and stumbled upon the uneven cobbled street.

Hermione had never been in Diagon Alley during the winter before — nor had she been there during such a late hour either. She couldn't help glancing around fascinated as the dark added a whole new level of magic to the old street. Malfoy almost gallantry allowed her to gaze at the magical lit shop-windows for a while, but gallantry only went so far and he hooked his arm through hers and pulled her along.

Hermione bit her tongue to keep from commenting when he started to lead her down the street, passed the several shops she had been into before. She noticed his eyes flit almost longingly to the Quidditch shop, but he kept walking. When Gringotts loomed over them, he steered them off the main street and down into a shadowy backstreet.

Hermione had never been to Knockturn Alley. It was a lot less crowded, especially when darkness fell and Hermione frowned when her eyes flitted over the strange looking people.

"Stop fidgeting." he hissed and she glared.

"You can't blame me for feeling uneasy here," she whispered back.

"I don't, but you wear your emotions too much on your face," he retorted. "When we are there I will do the talking. You are going to be silent," he told her matter-of-factly and Hermione's eyes narrowed in response.

"Who died and made you king?"

He sighed, quickened his pace and pulled her along not-so-gently. For nearly five full minutes, the pair argued about whom exactly was to speak and Hermione was half ready to hex him. Malfoy growled at her, and Hermione gave a frustrated yell. "You can be impossible."

"Have you ever met yourself?" he asked, before pulling her along over the cobbled street. Hermione was slightly surprised there was almost no snow in London while the north of Scotland was hidden under a thick blanket of the white substance. "I've been raised to play the political games, while you were raised to speak the truth and most of all speak your bloody mind at all times."

"There's nothing wrong with that!" she angrily retorted.

"Yes, there is, and now shut up!" he snapped back, before knocking on a wooden door. A middle-aged man with almost no hair and a large nose answered the door. He took one look at Malfoy's hair, before stooping low.

"Young Master Malfoy, please come in." he glanced at Hermione with a raised eyebrow. "Miss…"

"Granger," Hermione answered, "Hermione Granger."

The man nodded again. "Follow me, please."

They followed him up a winding staircase, towards the second floor. They arrived at an office and Hermione glanced around with curious eyes. The office itself was rather spacious with large windows decorated the wall. The lawns were visible through the windows, and Hermione squinted her eyes at the strange magical creature that lay under a loan oak tree.

"Ah, Mister Malfoy," a man said jovially. "And Miss Granger, I'm charmed."

"Mr Peterson," Malfoy greeted stiffly and Hermione smiled slightly nodding at the man.

Mr Peterson was a chubby short man with thinning grey hair, his pink scalp was clearly visible across the top of his head. He was dressed in a purple dress robe, and wore tortoiseshell glasses, balancing on the tip of his nose.

"Please take a seat," he said, waving them towards two chairs that had been placed in front of his wooden desk. His desk was empty, except for a mug full of quills and a notebook full of mathematic questions.

Hermione glanced at Malfoy, who gracefully stepped towards one of the chairs and sat with down with a small polite smile. Hermione followed his lead, crossing her legs and intertwining her fingers onto her lap. Mr Peterson watched them with interest.

"Your Father had already told me you were coming." Mr Peterson said, breathing on his spectacles, carefully cleaning the lenses with a handkerchief from his pocket. "I was rather surprised Lucius Malfoy let you go anywhere unsupervised."

Hermione noticed Malfoy's jaw tense and she pursed her lips, digging her nails into the back of her hands. "My father doesn't think it to be necessary to attend to business like this. He is, after all, a busy man."

"Of course," the older man answered, pushing his tortoiseshell spectacles on his nose. His cheeks had reddened and Hermione thought with a frown that this all excited him.

"Miss Granger," he asked, glancing at her with a raised eyebrow. "I don't think I've ever heard of you."

"That's possible," Hermione answered back stiffly. "I've never heard of you either."

Next to her Malfoy groaned. Peterson cleared his throat again and flicked quickly through his papers with a glare of concentration.

"We wondered," Hermione started, before sighing. "I know you make the strongest, sometimes a bit frowned upon, potions."

"Granger!" Malfoy hissed, but Mr Peterson chuckled.

"She's feisty," Mr Peterson smiled; "It's not a problem, Mister Malfoy, I think I like it."

"Hm, that's all good and well," Malfoy answered, glancing at her; the silent warning rather clear, "I take it that my father informed you of the dire of this situation?" Malfoy asked and Hermione's mouth slacked open. He sat up straight, legs crossed at the knees and hands clasped together as if he was dealing with a bothersome employee at a meeting.

"It's always business with you lot, isn't it?" the older man muttered.

"If you wouldn't mind."

"You're asking me to give away my clients." Mr Peterson told the young Slytherin matter-of-factly. "That's not something I can take lightly."

"You will be rewarded handsomely," Malfoy answered flippantly. "I want those names."

The man smirked and tapped his fingers on the table. "How much are those names worth, hm, young Mister Malfoy?"

"How much is your freedom worth to you?" Hermione snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm sure his father," she continued, pointing a finger at Draco Malfoy's blond head to accentuate her words. "would love to inform the Ministry of your— _business…_ "

"I see," Mr Peterson muttered; a dark expression passed over his face, like a shadow falling.

"It is not needed, If you cooperate you will be financially compensated." Draco Malfoy explained again, eyeing her as if he'd never really seen her.

"I will have to get the map from my personal files."

"Well?" Hermione asked, drawling her voice in a way Malfoy always did. She saw his eyes grow wide from beside her.

He stalked out of the room, slinking through a door at the back Hermione hadn't noticed before, while muttering about 'bloody Purebloods' and 'who did they think they were'. Malfoy chuckled.

"Did you just use the father card?"

"No, I used the _your-father-card,_ " she muttered. "Seems to work wonderfully. You do realise he would have milked it for everything it was worth otherwise?"

"Yes, but I still didn't expect _you_ to threaten her."

"Remember to ask me about Rita Skeeter when we're back at school."

"I'll be sure to do."

The door to the office opened again and Mr Peterson stepped in with a colourful file under his arm. He sat back down in his leather chair and placed the file in front of them. "I hope you both realise that most of my customers don't use their own name," he asked, an imperious eyebrow raised.

Hermione nodded slowly. Although she hadn't thought about it, that made sense. She wasn't sure if she would want to order something under her own name from here. Malfoy snatched the file off of the table, his patience finally drained and his eyes more alive in anger. This was the first time she had seen that much of emotion on his face. At least regarding the whole Love Potion incident.

She watched him studying what seemed to be a list of names. Hermione felt torn between snatching it away and glancing at it herself, and a certain curiosity; wondering what he would do. She felt his magic, actually felt it, as it emanated from him in hostile waves of pure energy. Mr Peterson seemed to feel it too, but other than scraping his chair back and clenching his hand around his wand, he did nothing.

"This is useless." he hissed and Hermione finally gave in to her desire and snatched the file out of his hands.

There were seven people who had ordered the potion in the last four months. The names were indeed all indecorously. Strange, couldn't be real. Hermione shook her head as she read over the destinations the packages had been sent off to.

"This one was sent to Hogwarts in October," she whispered, "Alfred Vane?"

"No, it was sent to _Hogsmeade_ , Granger," Malfoy muttered and she rolled her eyes.

"Just when I thought you were clever," she muttered, before pointing at the date. "The sixteenth of December was a Hogsmeade weekend," she explained pointedly, tapping her index finger on the paper.

Malfoy frowned. "They must have sent it to the post office."

"Can't say I blame them," Hermione retorted. "With that bloody woman on the loose, it would be very unwise to send it to the castle instead."

"Don't we know a _Vane_?" Malfoy asked, his eyes narrowed and Hermione nodded.

"Yes, Romilda Vane, a Gryffindor," — Malfoy gave her a smug look, which she ignored — "she's in Ginny's year or the year below her, but I know who she is."

" _She's_ not a boy though." Mr Peterson muttered and Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"You've actually met this person?"

His cheeks turned a dull pink and Malfoy chuckled. "No, I haven't. Just the name— Well, I suppose pretending to form a different sex would work…"

"I suppose it would." Draco mimicked, before pulling a … with galleons out of his pocket and dropped it on the table. "I will be taking this," he continued, snatching the file out of Hermione's hands and pushed it into his bag. "You were of some help, so we are thankful."

"But that's my client list."

Malfoy glared at the older man. "I'm sure I don't really care."

"Right," he muttered; eyeing the money with obvious greed. "Well, I suppose I could miss that list."

"You better not be selling that particular potion again," Hermione whispered under her breath but he heard her all the same. He might have wanted to argue, but in a fit of pure genius, she thought of Rita Skeeter and how she would make sure to drag his name through the mud. Love Potions might have been legal and although the victims only got blamed, they were still frowned upon. And as Draco Malfoy led her out of the door with a huge smirk, he was left trembling.

Hermione proceeded by going to his shop, bought the man out of his entire stock of love potions, before smashing them on the floor. All the while yelling about how Romilda Vane was going to get it, and how Ronald Weasley was the biggest pig-head on the planet — which had actually zero to do with the subject — and it felt good. It felt so good to finally let it all out. And when they returned to Hogwarts, Hermione clasping Malfoy's hand and Malfoy leaning slightly into her, she felt happier than she had all year.

 _To be continued…_

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 **A/N: And here is chapter nine. My favourite part of this chapter would be the moment Hermione smashed the entire stock of Love Potions. I really don't get how using Love Potions are not illegal. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!**

 **Please comment!**

 **Harry Potter does not belong to me, but to J.K. Rowling.**


	11. Chapter 10, Evidence

**Thank you so much for your reviews! I hope you'll like this chapter as well. A bit more fluff, leading up for some trouble. This story takes place during fifth year. Umbridge rules the school and her band of little Slytherins will heave chaos around the school (but this time without Draco Malfoy, because quite obviously he's fallen a bit out of favour).**

 **Anyway enjoy chapter ten!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Ten, Evidence**_

 **A** fter the Hogsmeade weekend, they would occasionally meet for lunch and tea in the room of requirement. She didn't tell him what it was used for, but she knew he figured it out long ago. He kept silent about it and she was grateful.

No one ever sees them, of course. She hadn't expected it, but her House was just as, if not more, prejudiced as his. Although she reckons Harry would support her, Ron — whom she was ignoring half of the time — had shown her there were social rules in Gryffindor one had to follow. And, as he had pointed out already, she was not following them.

It made Hermione angry. She had curled herself into one of the cushioned red sofa's reading a book while glancing outside now and then.

Tapping her fingers against the cover of her book, she breathed in slowly. It was wrong and backwards; she had every right to talk to whomever she pleased. Especially when he offered her such intellectual conversations and she liked it. They weren't quite friends, but they weren't enemies either. He still insulted her friends when they passed, but he didn't bother insulting her, and therefore she laid off of him.

"This is absolutely a waste of time," Hermione muttered, before snapping her Defence book shut. Putting her book away, she tiredly glanced through the window.

The day had dawned bright and clear, crystalline blue skies without a cloud in sight; and therefore the day had been cold. It was early afternoon and after the morning lessons, she had retreated to the common room, to enjoy the realm of books. Hermione absentmindedly rubbed her thigh with her fingers as she shifted in her seat, leaning her chin on her knees.

The portrait hole opened. Hermione glanced towards the entrance only to see a very flushed very hysterical Ginny Weasley.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked carefully. Ginny shook her head and beckoned to the circular stairs leading towards the girl dormitories. The fourth-year bedroom was empty. Ginny fell down on her bed with a small moan.

"What's going on Ginny?" Hermione asked, closing the door with a small thud.

Ginny moaned again and hid her eyes behind her arm. Hermione frowned, making her way over to the redhead's bed. She waited for a moment, perching up the edge of the bed, before placing a comforting hand on Ginny's arm.

"Are you all right?"

Ginny shook her head. "No," she whispered. "No, I'm not."

"Really, Ginny, I cannot help you if you don't tell me what's wrong."

"I was upset," she answered.

Hermione inched closer. "What about?"

"Not important!" Ginny answered, before sitting up and hugging her pillow to her chest. "I slept with Zabini."

"Yeah," Hermione answered. "I know that. Everyone knows that."

Ginny glowered at the other witch, before shaking her head. She straightened her back and looked at Hermione with narrowed eyes. "That's not what I mean."

"Oh, my God!" Hermione suddenly whispered, her eyes widening and her mouth falling open.

She nodded and let out a humourless laugh. "I slept with him, again," she clarified. "I didn't use any precaution. Again!"

Hermione chuckled, pushing a lock of hair away from her face. "That's what you're worried about?"

"Wouldn't you be?" Ginny asked shrilly.

"According to _Hogwarts a History_ , there are special enchantments over this school. Underaged witches can't fall pregnant." Hermione explained.

"They can't?" Ginny asked.

"Of course not, else we all would have gotten a potion last time, wouldn't we?" Hermione asked tiredly. "Why can no one just read Hogwarts a History already?"

Ginny laughed, before throwing herself face-first into her pillow. "Thank God!" she wailed and Hermione shook her head. Ginny remained still, face down, on her bed.

Hermione crossed her legs at the ankles and stared at the younger redhead. Just below her ear, tinged almost blue, she noticed a love bite. "Gin?"

"Hm,"

"You've got something on your neck."

"Do I?"

Hermione clucked her tongue, before prodding at the side of Ginny's neck. "Right about here," she started. "A love-bite."

Ginny let out something which sounded a lot like a groan and muttered something that sounded an awful lot like; 'I hate my life,' before tracing the spot with her fingers.

Hermione laughed softly as she studied the flustered girl and pulled her wand out. "I can glamour it if you want to?"

"Yes," she muttered, not bothering to get up. Hermione noticed her cheeks blushing a delicate shade of pink.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the other girl's antics, before shifting closer and whispered the incantation. Ginny remained stiff, face down, on her bed. Hermione blew a lock of hair out of her face and fiddled with a loose button on her robe.

"Whatever happened during Hogsmeade weekend though?" Ginny suddenly asked, lifting her face and glancing at Hermione through red-rimmed eyes. "Did you get a lead?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded, glad for the change of topic. "We did!"

Ginny rearranged the pillows on her bed behind her back and waited for Hermione to elaborate. Hermione perched on the younger girl's bed as well, and Ginny drew the curtain shut and settled her legs under the covers. "Well?" she asked, tendrils of red escaping their braided prison, and brown eyes alight with the prospect of finally knowing the identity of the person who did this.

"Alfred Vane…"

Ginny's brow furrowed. "Who?"

"Fake name," Hermione shrugged. "But we _do_ know a Vane, don't we?"

Ginny was silent for a moment and then nodded. "Yes, we do; Romilda Vane."

"Exactly," Hermione whispered.

"How do you want to do this?" Ginny asked, "We can't use truth serum again! The teachers— they are actually keeping an eye on all of us."

"We don't have to." Hermione shrugged. "I'm a Prefect, I can demand some answers."

"I suppose you could." Ginny nodded slowly. "What about Malfoy?"

"Yeah, we probably should find her as soon as possible. I don't think Malfoy is above hexing a girl. Especially not one he holds accountable for that Love potion."

"Well, we might get a chance during lunch." Ginny nodded, glancing at the clock on her bedside. "It's almost over though."

When they made it to lunch they had barely enough time to swiftly grab a sandwich. Folding a napkin around the sandwich, they both glanced around the table.

"She isn't here," Ginny muttered annoyed.

"Do you know where—"

"No, but I'll find her. I probably have a better chance of getting the answers we need." Ginny said, eyeing the sandwiches with distaste.

"I'm a Prefect," Hermione started, frowning. Glancing down at her shiny Prefect badge, she waited for Ginny to elaborate.

"Exactly," Ginny muttered, eyeing the other girl apprehensively.

"I don't think I understand, Gin…" Hermione asked, the words tasting foreign in her mouth.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you can act rather— _importantly_ ," Ginny explained. "It can rub people the wrong way…"

"Oh," Hermione muttered dumbly.

Ginny smiled pleasantly, before picking an apple from a tray and left the Great Hall again, in search of Romilda Vane. Hermione watched her friend fighting her way through the bustling crowd and smiled tentatively. She didn't immediately notice Harry and Ron huddled together until she felt their stares on her. They were seated at the end of the Gryffindor table, creases in their brows and varying expressions on their faces. Ron looked angry although smug while Harry looked worried.

Hermione sighed, before joining the trio with a slight raise of her eyebrows. "Something the matter, guys?"

Ginny swallowed before standing up and rushing out of the Hall without saying a word to Hermione. "What's going on?"

"As if we would tell that to a traitor." Ron spat.

Hermione breathed in slowly — 'think about your breathing exercises, Hermione, breathe, just breathe' — and clenched and unclenched her hands. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Ron. Harry, what's going on?"

"Why are you meeting with Malfoy?" Harry asked. A look of anger flashed across his face.

"She's fraternising with the enemy, that's what she's doing, Harry." Ron snapped and Hermione gave him such a cold look that he snapped his mouth shut.

"Well, I'm so very glad you're back to your old self." she muttered snootily, her hands tightening around her cup of Yasmin tea.

"This is Malfoy, Hermione!" Harry hissed. "He's the one who insulted you for years. He got me out of the Quidditch game."

She winced and crossed her arms over her chest. Harry looked wounded, angry and hurt. It isn't a look she liked on him, but Hermione can't deal with it right now. He didn't say anything. Ever since Christmas, when Professor Dumbledore had ordered him to follow Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape, he seemed less easy provoked in a screaming match. That didn't mean he was capable of keeping his temper under full control and Hermione blew tiredly into her tea and inhaled sharply to stop herself from reacting. When he'd announced Snape was teaching him Occlumency, Hermione's heart felt constricted with envy. It would be so handy — useful — if you were capable of blocking out invaders. She could definitely use that ability. Especially combined with Leglimency.

Placing her teacup onto the table, she worried her lower lip, before glancing at Harry. His cheeks were rapidly growing a dark red colour. She opened her mouth, not sure what she wanted to say, but Harry shakes his head angrily.

"Save it, Hermione," he snapped heatedly, his eyes flashing dangerously behind the lenses of his glasses. "You were supposed to be on my side."

Hermione snorted. "Like the way you are on my side, I suppose?" she shot back.

Harry grimaced and crossed his arms over his chest.

The plates disappeared and left the long House tables with nothing but a few cups and goblets. Ron's gloomy expression slowly fell away and instead a small smile appeared. Hermione watched Lavender Brown sag onto his lap, wrap her arms around his neck and kiss the tall boy languidly on his lips.

A mild stab of irritation and disgust shot through her, but other than that she felt nothing. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she stood from her seat and stuffed an apple into her bag for later.

"I see you guys later, I have homework to do," she muttered, glancing around the table. No trace of Romilda Vane. The girl could have been anywhere and she really needed to do some homework. With swift steps, she left the Great Hall.

"I mean it, she get's more difficult every day," Ron muttered and Hermione flinched slightly.

She glanced backwards. Harry gave Ron an unimpressed glare and she noticed the anger that had settled on Ron's face. She couldn't entirely blame them for being angry. After all, it had been her who had withdrawn from them. She would have considered apologising awkwardly, had she anything to apologise for, but she had been hurt by Ron's insensitive words.

She shook her head, Lavender Brown curled around him. His grimace was even obvious to her, and she smiled.

She had absolutely no desire to see _Lav-Lav_ — Ron's pet-name for the girl — (force)feed him peas, which she liked doing, whenever Hermione was around. Brushing a lock of her bushy hair behind her shoulder, she quickened her step and swiftly ascended the stairs.

o.O.o

Draco watched her go. Watched her look tentatively back to her so-called best friends and watched the slight amusement when Lavender Brown straddled her _boyfriend's_ — the idea alone made him sick — with a raised eyebrow. He wasn't sure when she stopped being hurt by the redhead's actions, and he wasn't sure why it pleased him, but he was sure she wasn't hurting anymore. He had always thought the pair were crazy about each other, but rather than admitting it, Ron Weasley resorted to the most ludicrous tactics to make her jealous.

Even he should have noticed by now, it was no longer working. Slinging his bag over his shoulder he stood up.

"Where are you going?" Theodore asked, a frown furrowing his eyebrows. "You barely ate anything…"

"Not really hungry, Theo." Draco dismissed, "I'm going to get some studying done."

Theo nodded, his eyes flitting to Crabbe and Goyle seated on either side of him. Draco smiled; ever since he had fallen out of grace, they followed Theodore Nott around. The only time the other boy got rid of them was when they were training for Quidditch — and then they fell back on following Draco — or when he went to take a shower. Theodore couldn't even escape them when he tried to barricade himself in the library — which had always been a fine place to be alone, for Draco — and obviously, Theo hoped the two bulky boys were going to follow Draco again.

"You're going after that girl?" Blaise asked, buttering his toast.

"What girl?" Draco asked annoyed.

"The Vane girl?" Blaise asked raising an eyebrow, "The one we are supposed to lay off of until you figured out if she was the one who drugged us?"

"No," Draco shook his head, "The silly bint is always surrounded by her friends, I don't need them running off, informing a teacher."

"Is that Granger's job?" Pansy asked, unable to keep the scorn out of her voice. Draco shrugged.

"She has a better chance of getting near her, without raising suspicion, doesn't she?"

Pansy grimaced, before glaring at the High table. Minerva McGonagall stared back, her glasses balancing on the tip of her nose. The Head of Gryffindor House was constantly keeping a close eye on the Slytherins. Draco didn't doubt she would file for his — or any of their — expulsion if they were found (again) into a compromising position.

"Good luck with ancient runes," Theo muttered, trying to shove Crabbe's offending elbow away.

Draco nodded and left the Great Hall with brisk steps. He didn't really need to study for Ancient Runes, not for anything actually. Thanks to his nagging, walking textbook he was far ahead in every class. Studying with her had its benefits. One of them; she didn't leave something until it was done.

Absolutely and completely done.

He noticed her seated at a table in the end of the library. Her cheeks were slightly pink and her teeth were lodged into her lower lip. Draco rested his hip against the edge of the desk, glancing down at her frizzy head with a frown. She didn't seem to notice him.

Draco cleared his throat; "You are upset, or aren't you?" he was under the impression she wasn't, and now, watching her worry her lower lip, he felt annoyed.

She smiled tightly, obviously already seen him coming "No. Yes. Ugh, yeah, I am, but not as much as I used to be." she admitted. "It's as if I don't care anymore. But my friends are rejecting me, donning me like trash, and that hurts."

"Are the Weasel and you fighting again?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Hermione frowned; "Don't call him that." she scolded, her hands gripped at the arms of the chair she sat in, her knuckles turning white.

"So you are fighting…" he deducted, smirking slightly at her irritated face. He used to be a thorn in her side, so easily and so much fun to provoke. She kept herself in the background whenever he and her toy boys fought, but her face was so expressive. Sometimes all he had to do was look at her to set her off.

"Ron and I have been a bit rocky ever since— ah— the Slytherin party." Hermione shrugged. "I'm not sure what he thought. He and Lavender seemed to have hit rock-bottom as well."

"What did they do now?"

"They think I am fraternising with the enemy." Hermione muttered, "Or that's what Ron said."

"Fraternising? That's a big word for him." Malfoy drawled, and she punched his shoulder.

"It's a tad childish don't you think?"

"No, it's more silly," Malfoy answered. "You shouldn't have left though. It will be seen as a sign of weakness."

Hermione frowned, flattening the front of her skirt a bit.

"Just fuck those arseholes, Granger. What they think or what they say doesn't matter. Especially Weasley!"

Hermione smiled tightly and then she drew in a shuddering gasp. She bends toward him and wrapped her arms around his waist until she could press her forehead against his shoulder. She felt him stiffen against her. Heard him inhale sharply, hold his breath for a few seconds, and exhaled slowly again. Hermione wondered how many people actually were close enough to him to hug him.

He patted her awkwardly on her head and she sniffed softly. He was a puzzle, and she didn't have all the pieces. She herself was a puzzle as well. Why was she so upset? She hadn't been upset when she'd seen Lavender and Ron kiss, but now.

"I don't know why I am so upset all the time," she admitted softly.

"Because your friends are bigger arseholes than mine are?" Draco asked. She half-laughed, half-sniffed and Draco slowly wedged a finger beneath her chin and lifted her tear-stained face to his. "It's not your fault."

"Isn't it?" she asked softly.

"No," he explained. "It's not."

He slowly stepped back, catching a lock of her hair and pushing it behind her ear. Hermione let her arms fall back along her side and exhaled softly.

"Just take care, all right, Granger?"

"Yes." she retaliated, "Thank you,"

Draco Malfoy nodded and stared in awe as he left again. She watched his retreating back and smiled slightly to herself. She wiped at a stray lone tear dripping down her cheek and exhaled softly. Hermione slowly lowered herself into her seat and glanced at her notes.

"Hermione?" a voice asked, and the tip of her pencil snapped off. Hermione felt her mouth slack open when she noticed Harry step out from behind the bookcase.

"Harry?" Hermione whispered, extracting her sharpener from her pencil case, prolonging the moment before she had to face him. He'd seen her, obviously, and now she would get another earful of why Malfoy was a maniac and how she was betraying his and Ron's trust.

Harry stepped further around the corner into the deserted Hogwarts Library. He was staring at her oddly, though at least he wasn't gaping at her. Hermione let her head drop into her open hand, pursing her lips and waiting for Harry Potter to react. He didn't. He tapped his fingers against the bookcase, before crossing the space between them and plopped down across from her. His chair scraped over the floor noisily.

"So— You and Malfoy…"

"It isn't like we're going out." she muttered defensively, but Harry shook his head.

"No," he answered, taking off his glasses, rubbing his temples tiredly, "I know you aren't— Not like it's any of my business though."

"Harry?"

"I don't like Malfoy," he whispered and Hermione almost rolled her eyes at that. "I really don't, but Malfoy has been more supportive than I have."

Hermione swallowed and nervously fiddled with her pencil. Harry cleared his throat. "I'm sorry Hermione. You've been my friend since we've been eleven and I—"

"I have been lonely without you," Hermione admitted. "It— It's okay. As long as you never do it again!" she mumbled and Harry shot her a guilty lopsided grin.

"I can talk to Ron if you want me to. I'm sure if I talk to him I—"

"No," Hermione shook her head, "Ron will have to come to me himself. All of this wasn't my fault and honestly, I didn't have much fun like this."

"Well, you have been spending a lot of time with Malfoy," Harry muttered sarcastically.

Hermione rolled her eyes before the both of them laughed. Madam Pince clucked her tongue, but for once didn't comment. Harry pushed his glasses back on his nose, the glass glinting in the harsh light of the sun.

o.O.o

Ginny Weasley spent the whole day following after Romilda Vane and her friends. She had found Romilda Vane climbing the rickety staircase swirling around the Owlery. She staggered up the stairs, clinging to the railings and dragging her increasingly heavy legs to the top. Ginny gritted her teeth and followed the girl into the circular room.

Although Ginny was glad the younger girl wasn't around her friends for once, this day had been extremely tiring. Romilda was standing in the centre of the room, her back towards Ginny as she silently walked further into the room. The girl was looking out of the wide-open windows.

Ginny made sure her footsteps were as silent as possible, and the redhead wrapped her arms around the other girl's torso, before pushing her wand under the other girl's chin.

"The love potion, we know it was you."

Romilda had stiffened in her arms. She stuttered and denied Ginny's words at first, but well, Ginny had the Weasley temper. And apparently, the other girl _knew_ that.

Katie Bell the Prefect had confiscated the phials and therefore Romilda had never been able to use it. Ginny had almost hexed the younger girl anyway because she had wanted to use the fucking love potion on Harry.

Either way, Romilda didn't know what had happened to it, but Ginny did. She knew Katie Bell. She knew the girl, although a Prefect, wouldn't have given the phials over to Minerva McGonagall. That meant she kept it, and practically anyone could have gotten their hands on it.

Romilda knew that too and when Ginny let her arms drop, she'd flounced off, her posture perfect, and Ginny remained in the foyer, her fingers stiff.

Ginny sat back on the stone step of the stairs towards the first floor. Her shoulders shuddered and her bottom lip trembled. Her body had curled into itself, her chin rested on her shivering knees and her arms tightly hugged her legs to her heaving chest. Tears streaked down her cheeks and dripped on her knees.

She had one anxious hand clasped over her mouth, trying to muffle her soft sobs that tore automatically from her throat. Her school robes were dirty — old too big, like most of the clothing she owned — and her nose started to run.

She knew who did it and it broke her heart.

 _To be continued…_

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 **A/N: And here is chapter ten. I feel somewhat mean for this cliffhanger, but feel free to guess. Some of you are really good at guessing^^**

 **Please comment!**

 **Harry Potter does not belong to me, but to J.K. Rowling.**


	12. Chapter 11, Hunt or be Hunted

**A/N: Thank you so much for all the comments! To answer several of your questions:**

 **Several of you made a guess of who was responsible for the prank and I'll tell you this, it won't become clear this chapter. I will, however, congratulate all of you. You've got the right idea going, but there is a different in being involved and being the culprit.**

 **To Danikae: thank you for pointing my mistakes out to me. You're right I have to correct these mistakes. I'm afraid they happen when I decide to use different timelines, but I still have written half of the story and even with all the notes mistakes slip into them.**

 **Anyway enjoy!**

* * *

 **o.O.o**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Eleven, The article**_

 **T** he days grew longer and the snow melted. The days became brighter and the sky became clear. Draco crossed one end of the courtyard to the other and shook his hair out of his face. The sky was blue and a pleasant warmth hung in the air. Draco rolled his shoulder as the last sun rays warmed his back and ran a hand through his damp hair. A slight wind picked a few strands of hair up and the giant squid was swimming languidly just beneath the surface of the lake.

Crabbe and Goyle groaned as Draco quickened his pace. The two beaters appeared to have strained several muscles, but Draco had gotten used to hard and long training sessions. Thereby, he didn't care if they had a hard training session, he did care for a nice long hot soak, though. His green Quidditch shirt plastered along his torso and his cheeks were burning red from the Quidditch exercise. The training had been harsh and Montague had had them repeat several exercises for hours.

Draco rolled his shoulders, before climbing the stone steps into the castle. The central hall was cool, the permanent lack of sun making it chilly. The scent of fresh grass was poignant and Draco felt a pang of familiarity go through him.

Hit mother loved the spring. When Draco had been younger she would take him out onto the grounds watching the flowers change colour — a spurt of accidental magic — while his mother would explain the stars. Knowing the stars and constellations was a Black tradition and his mother was a lot if not a Black.

Draco missed his mother, but if she knew what had happened, she would probably follow her mother's example and burn him from the family tapestry. She might have been the one who loved him the most, she was also the one with the strongest feelings of blood.

If there was any reason to keep away from Hermione Granger than it was that. Allowing her to get to him, to get closer to him, the way she did was an abysmal idea. Abysmal ideas; he seemed to be full of them.

Draco quickened his step and descended the stairs towards the dungeons. The second Draco stepped into the Slytherin common room, conversation ceased. Ignoring the stares and glares from the students and strode back to his dorm room. Blaise was there as well, seated cross-legged on his bed.

"What are you doing, Blaise?"

"Scratching out all the hexes that aren't usable." the Italian boy responded rolling his quill through his fingers and smirking at the book in his lap.

"Come again?"

"Did you know that the Italian version of the castration hex is actually legal?" he asked Draco and the blond smirked.

"You think it's a man?" he asked. "I'm pretty sure 'poisoning' is more done by females."

"Who told you that?" Blaise asked "Your walking female encyclopaedia?"

"Yes, she knows this stupid kind of things."

"I mean it, man, your girlfriend knows too many stupid facts." Blaise drawled.

"She isn't my girlfriend," Draco answered automatically and Blaise rolled his eyes.

"Because of the Mudblood thing?" he asked and Draco frowned at the use of the word. "I didn't think you still cared."

"I don't think I do," Draco admitted. Blaise dropped the book and dropped it on the floor.

"You really don't?" he asked slowly and Draco shrugged. What was the point of all of it? He didn't hate Hermione Granger. Not really anyway and it was just not worth it.

"So the two of you buried the past?" Blaise asked.

"Not officially," Draco answered, "but we get along, either way. I can't even remember the last time we fought."

"You've got the better end of the deal if you ask me." Blaise muttered, "The Weaselette fights me on everything. Although she is quite feisty in bed."

"You've been with her once—" Draco started while lifting an imperious eyebrow when Blaise smirked, "—Not _once_ I take it?"

"She came to me two days ago." the Italian boy drawled. "You know my mother doesn't care for all the Pureblood mumbo-jumbo around marriage and the sacred virginity."

"And you fell into bed again?"

"More like a broom closet."

"You've got some eye for detail, don't you?" Draco muttered dryly and Blaise smirk grew.

"Well, what did you do with your little bookworm then?"

"It will be a cold day in hell before I tell you, Blaise." Draco dryly retorted, throwing his ruck-sag onto his bed.

"Ah," Blaise mumbled, rolling onto his side. "A gentleman never tells huh? I'm more surprised your father hasn't stormed over here, trying to strangle your little girlfriend."

Choosing to not rise to the bait, Draco shrugged. "He didn't know it was common knowledge until Pansy wrote him."

"She wrote your dad?"

"She says she didn't, but yes, she did. That was when I got the You-are-a-disgrace-to-the-family-letter." Draco answered, rolling his wand between his fingers. "He already knew from my _indiscretions_ from Snape."

"And he was fine with that?"

"Ignorance is bliss."

"So it seems," Blaise agreed, before picking his book up again. Draco sagged back onto his bed and sighed softly. "I wasn't needed, was I?"

"No," Draco muttered, "Montague said a spare keeper isn't necessary right now, but he does want you to stay fit."

"I can do that." Blaise nodded, smiling slyly to the ceiling and Draco shook his head. "Umbridge started an inquisitorial squad."

"A what?" Draco questioned.

"Yeah, I know," Blaise nodded. "She confronted us today. Me, Crabbe and Goyle, on our way to History of Magic. She wants us toensure _order among the student populace_. _Hum Hum_."

"Okay, yeah, and she roped _you_ into it?"

"I'm pretty sure, she would have wanted to rope you into it, if you weren't spending so much time with our resident Gryffindor bookworm." Blaise shrugged, "We have to wear this on our robes." he continued, holding a tiny silver 'I' between his thumb and index finger.

"Great," Draco muttered, shrugging out of his Quidditch gear and pulled his pyjama out from under his pillow. "Bloody hell, I'm tired."

"So you don't want to be a part of it?" Blaise asked innocently and Draco rolled his eyes.

"Definitely not," Draco answered, "If you want to tolerate Umbridge and have contact with her, no matter how brief, on a daily basis, then go right ahead."

"You're an arsehole, Draco."

"Glad you know me so well."

"It just occurred to me, I'll have to figure out how Potter and Granger are running that duelling club of theirs." Blaise suddenly said while Draco crossed the room towards the bathroom.

Draco chuckled. "Good luck with that, I've heard that club they're running is quite effective. Even Longbottom is flourishing. Can you believe it?"

"Shut up, Draco!" Blaise muttered, before dropping back on the bed.

Draco swung the green linen material over his shoulder and stepped into the bathroom. He stepped into the washroom, blindly turning a knob in the shower. His muscles were stiff and Draco scrubbed his hands over his face, raking a hand through his hair.

o.O.o

Hermione yawned tiredly as she strolled through the hallways. A chilly wind whistled through every corridor and she almost jumped when Nearly Headless Nick and the Bloody Baron suddenly moved through the wall. Combing her fingers through her frizzy hair — it was even more unbearable than normal — she quickened her step and stepped into the Great Hall. Harry and Ron were seated in the middle of the Gryffindor table, and although Hermione hesitated for a moment, she decided sitting with them and at least trying to rekindle their friendship would be the most logical and more pleasant choice.

She ignored the stifled confused whispering that hung in the room like a suffocating blanket and slipped next to Harry.

"So how was it?" Ron asked, looking at Harry with an eager smile. The Daily Prophet was delivered and the small barn owl who looked at her as if she was its rodent dinner. She scrabbled into the pocket of her robes, fishing her money pouch out of it, before paying the little messenger and looked at Harry and Ron with a raised eyebrow.

"How was what?" Hermione asked, serving herself a plate of scrambled eggs. "Could you pass me the salt?"

Ron grimaced, before rolling his eyes. He accidentally brushed his fingers against her hand and Hermione noticed his cheek turning pink. Hermione raised an imperious eyebrow: "What? What is going on?"

"I went out with Cho last night." he admitted softly

Hermione nodded in understanding. "I see,"

"Yeah," Ron said, "So, how was _it_?"

"Brilliant," Harry admitted, an enormous grin spreading over his face and Hermione got the strange feeling they had done more than just kissing.

Hermione chewed on her lower lip, turning to her scrambled eggs. She shovelled a forkful of eggs into her mouth and chewed lazily; enjoying the slight curry flavour it had. Ginny Weasley plopped down next to her, pouring herself a goblet of pumpkin juice.

"Morning Gin," Hermione offered lightly, before serving herself a second plate of eggs and toast.

"Morning," Ginny answered softly, nibbling on a piece of toast. Ron raised an eyebrow and both Fred and George eyed the youngest Weasley with a frown.

"I something wrong, Ginny?" Harry asked, and Hermione was surprised that even the boys were picking up on Ginny's washed-out face.

"I'm fine," she muttered unconvincingly.

Ron rolled his eyes at his sister's antics, before glancing back to Harry. "Well, we talked…"

"Right," Ron dryly shot back. "You talked." he continued making air-quotes with his friends. "Did you kiss or not?"

Hermione snorted in disgust for the term and started to sop her toast into her tea. Hermione cleared her throat, before glancing at Harry again. "And that made you this radiant?"

"You could say so," Harry admitted. "At least it was very brilliant at first."

"At first, were you rubbish at it?" Ron asked laughing.

Hermione snorted. "I'm sure Harry wasn't rubbish, Ron."

Ron's look of smug delight melted into some of pure confusion and he glanced from Hermione to Harry and back again. "Come again?"

"Well, it was wet," Harry admitted.

"Eww, Harry!" Hermione mumbled.

"That's not what I mean," he was quick to explain. "In the beginning it was fine, but then she started to cry and—"

"Oh, Harry," Hermione started, "Don't you understand what she's feeling like?"

"How am I supposed to know what that girl feels?"

"Just because you have the emotional range of a teaspoon, doesn't mean everybody else has."

"Obviously, she is feeling very sad, because of Cedric dying. Then I expect she's feeling confused because she liked Cedric and now she likes Harry, and she can't work out who she likes best. Then she'll be feeling guilty, thinking it's an insult to Cedric's memory to be kissing Harry at all... And she probably can't work out what her feelings are towards Harry anyway, because he was the one who was with Cedric when Cedric died, so that's all very mixed up and painful."

"Merlin, how can you feel all of that all at once?" Ron answered.

"I give up, boys are hopeless," Hermione muttered, before collecting her bag and stood up. "Gin, are you coming?"

Ginny glanced up at Hermione with a worried expression, before nodding. With her arms crossed in front of her chest, Ginny led them to an abandoned classroom, sitting down across from her with a small nervous smile. "What did you need, Hermione?"

When speaking, Ginny spoke in a rush, as if it had been building up and she needed to say it all at once before she was stopped. "First I followed Romilda around the castle. She's quite hard to track and she's always around her friends. Couldn't very well jump her, when her friends are around. So the next moment, she is going up the stairs towards the Owlery, and I followed her, confronted her, threatened to hex her and she immediately spilt the beans."

Ginny inhaled harshly, before shifting to the edge of her seat. "So I ask her what happened with the phials, you know, because she admitted to ordering them, and she gets all white-faced. Eyes large and worried and the always dormant flush on her cheeks disappeared. So I was about to really hex her and then she told me Katie Bell, the sixth year Prefect, had confiscated the phials. Gave it to McGonagall."

"Gave it to McGonagall…" Hermione echoed. "I don't understand, how did it get into the Firewhisky if McGonagall had it? Do you think Romilda was telling the truth?"

"I don't know, I think she was telling the truth. Anyway, she doesn't know how anyone would be able to get to them _there_ , but she didn't have them during the Quidditch match."

"Well, that's just lovely," Hermione muttered annoyed. "Then I've smashed his phials all for nothing."

"Smashed his—"

"Nothing Ginny," Hermione whispered, "it's not important. This was just a dead end. What they said at the beginning of December, appears to be true…"

"I don't understand," Ginny whispered softly.

"Professor Snape told us the Head boy made a potion, for extra credits, and they think someone stole a sample from him and used it to drug everyone."

Ginny didn't reply but nodded slowly. It was obvious to Hermione she had already known that. Ginny avoided Hermione's curious gaze, nervous fingers picking at a loose thread on her skirt. She moved her lips, but no sound emerged.

"Ginny?"

"No," she whispered, "It's nothing."

Hermione frowned, before tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. They would never find out who drugged them. Literally, anyone could have nicked a sample from the Head Boy

She suppressed a sigh when Ginny literally bolted for the door as soon as the bell sounded. Massaging her aching temples; a headache was coming on. Groaning loudly, she kicked at the table and glared at the dust on the windowsill. Somehow Hermione felt as if she was getting closer to the answer, but she was not seeing it.

Outside the snow was falling, thick and heavy on the Scottish Highlands and she sighed. She didn't really want to go to Care for Magical Creatures. The weather was horrible and Hagrid was very stubborn.

Hermione had tried, when Hagrid returned last November, to make Hagrid start his lessons with something easy, small, not-dangerous. She had tried to persuade him to start with something harmless, especially since Dolores Umbridge had been made Hogwarts High Inquisitor and she would be keeping a close watch on him. Especially since Hagrid was one of Dumbledore's most trusted.

Breathing out loudly, Hermione slung her bag over her shoulder and descended the stairs again. She was in the middle of adjusting her scarf around her neck — ploughing through two feet of snow and ice — when she stepped up next to Hagrid's cabin.

Hagrid was rather nervous, wringing his large hands together and Umbridge was sitting on a high stool, her clipboard at the ready. Yet again, his face was a mass of purple and black bruises. One eye, his right one this time, had been reduced to a puffy slit. Hagrid, who was twice the size of a normal man, limped through the snow and explained, voice high and trembling, about several classes of dog-like creatures.

"What is she doing here?" Hermione whispered, stepping up next to Harry.

"You haven't heard?" Harry asked, eyebrows raised and scowl falling from his face. "Hagrid's on probation."

"What?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "It's bad. He doesn't want to talk about it though."

"You've tried?"

"Of course I have. Me and Ron, we both tried, but he's so distant, Hermione." Harry explained. "Umbridge is destroying him, and we can't do anything about it."

Hermione nodded, a grimace slowly spreading over her face. God, she hated that woman so much! Glaring at Umbridge, as she diligently took notes as Hagrid spoke.

Exhaling slowly, trying to keep her growing anger under control, Hermione brought her gaze back to the front. Malfoy was leaning against the bark of a tree. She could tell he wasn't paying attention. Daphne Greengrass — a rather shallow girl in Hermione's opinion — was standing next to him. They were conversing quietly and Hermione felt a small stab of irritation, before forcing her concentration back to Hagrid.

"So that's why he took my advice…" Hermione silently muttered, as Hagrid nervously told the class about a Crup — a creature indistinguishable from a Jack Russell terrier, except he had a forked tail — and Umbridge so now and then interrupted him with low snide remarks, which brought him out of his concentration.

After the lesson, Hermione slowly walked up to Hagrid. "You did really well today, Hagrid," she whispered pleasantly.

"Hermione you must go back to the castle," Hagrid answered, and Hermione frowned, crossing her arms over her chest.

"But, I just wanted to congratulate you." she retorted.

"You have to go, or it will be all our necks on the line." he said, before slamming the door in front of her face.

Hermione reeled back and blinked stupidly at the wooden door. Fang was barking at her from inside and Hermione pushed a lock of bushy hair behind her ear. To her, it seemed only appropriate that the weather had turned out this harsh and unforgiving. Smiling wistfully, Hermione crossed from one end of the courtyard to the other.

Hermione had no doubt in her mind that the meeting would have turned out differently if Umbridge wasn't on his case the way she was, and it would have gone differently if Dumbledore didn't keep his distance the way he did. Huddling deeper into her warm cloak — she had refreshed the warming charm at least two times — and bowed her head against the sleet lashing at her skin.

The distance was short, but the howling wind buffeted her body as she fought to keep her balance. Hermione rubbed her cold cheeks and quickened her step. She tore through the snow as quickly as possible, but with the howling wind and the heavy book bag hanging from her shoulders. She was in the middle of pushed the front door open slowly, when it hit her.

It was sudden. Her stomach plummeted and her vision went dark. Hermione grasped at the at the wall for support and her eyes blinked profusely, until the darkness cleared, her hair plastering to her forehead. She only barely staggered to the toilet when a new wave of nausea hit her, and she was violently sick.

Breathing in and out, she raked her fingers through her hair.

How could things go back to hell so fast? Leaning her suddenly sweaty cheek against the cold wall, she exhaled slowly. Someone had to do something about Umbridge, and that someone had to do it fast.

Hermione slowly got up and felt the determination settle onto her shoulders. _She_ had to do something…

 _To be continued…_

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 **A/N: I included Harry's first kiss, because it meant something for Harry. Next chapter will delve into Ginny. It will be updated in the week of ten July (because I have several important tests to study for).**

 **Please comment! They made me so happy!**

 **Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling**


	13. Chapter 12, a truce

**A/N: I'm sorry for the delay on this chapter. I realise I told you all this chapter would be about Ginny, but I was mistaken. Please enjoy chapter twelve.**

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 **o.O.o**

* * *

 **Chapter Twelve, a Truce**

' _Of all the people my heart could have chosen, it decided on a boy who didn't have enough room in his own heart to love someone like me.' — A.V._

 **H** ermione Granger had spent a cumulative month holed up in the library, searching for a solution. Looking for a suspect she'd overlooked. She studied books, student records, magazines even newspaper clippings, but she didn't find anything. Every lead lacked any sort of logic. She delved far too deep into the magical theory of the potion and even figured out how someone might be able to get in McGonagall's office, yet .

Her Head of House never bothered to really close it, really lock her office door, so taking the potion if you overheard it was there, would have been child-play. Harry started to grow more and more agitated and Hermione wasn't sure what she should do. His Occlumency lessons weren't going all that well either and—

"Granger?"

"Hm," her head shot up, an irritated glare thinning her lips, when he shut her textbook with one hand.

"You've done enough," he told her pulling the book out of her reach. "We won't find out who did this by searching through books, no matter how much you like it.

He's smart, clever and Hermione isn't sure she likes how much he can read her.

"What?"

"I'm worried about Harry," she told him and he looked somewhat perturbed.

"Right, I'll leave you to it." He muttered.

"That's not what I meant, but as we are friends, don't you think you could make up with Harry?" she asked lips pursed and eyebrows scrunched together.

" _Make up with Harry_?" he echoed, "For Merlin's sake, Granger, Potter and I will probably never get on."

"You could try," she said. Perhaps if Harry could confide in someone that was not around every second of the day, he might not feel the need to throw tantrums every time someone did not agree with him. More importantly, she didn't want to keep her friendship a secret from Harry, as much as it was a secret of course, and she would really like it if they could get on. She would like it if her best friend and her _love interest_ — even thinking it made her cheeks warm — could try to get on…

Malfoy pursed his lips. She had hope. He hadn't denied it immediately.

o.O.o

Being at school while Lord Voldemort grew stronger felt strange and unreal. It was a waste of his time, especially when the _Daily_ _Prophet_ kept reporting more and more people missing, while simultaneously they kept writing ridiculous stories about him.

The routine of attending class, attending meals and practising Occlumency with Snape was starting to wear Harry down. D.A. meetings started to tire him and Harry resolve to keep his temper in check was slowly starting to dissipate.

Despite his _mood_ - _swings_ — which Ginny called womanly — it was a brilliantly sunny day outside. Harry had actually been looking forward to spending some quality time outside, but Hermione had different ideas. Ideas that involved bad, very bad news. Harry's mouth had stopped functioning. He was sure it would never function properly again and he shook his head.

"What?" he managed, sounding an awful lot like a broken plate player.

Hermione rubbed her hands together nervously and Malfoy— Draco bloody Malfoy— shifted in his seat. They were seated in Hermione's favourite spot in the library.

"I—" Hermione started, before shaking her head, " _We_ would like to offer a truce. Malfoy and I,"

"If this is going to work, Granger, it would be better if you actually started to call me Draco." Malfoy interrupted and Hermione frowned, before nodding.

"Yes, Draco and I, I am Hermione by the way," she continued glancing at Draco, and Harry slowly took off his glasses to wipe them. He must be seeing things. "We want to propose you a truce."

"And what would that entail?" Harry asked, perhaps he should see an ear doctor as well. After all, he was hallucinating more than just their forms…

"We— I will— Merlin! I don't know Potter, but we could try you know, be civil, I'll lay off of you, you'll lay off of me." Malfoy started, tapping his fingers against the table.

"You might even like each other."

Harry gave Hermione a long look, before shaking his head. "So no inquisitorial squad?"

"I've never been part of that." Malfoy shrugged. "Umbridge thought I was too much of a liability, when Gra— Hermione, this is weird, was concerned."

"And the other Slytherins?" Harry asked, unable to keep the suspicion out of his voice.

"It might surprise you, but even though I'm considered the _top dog_ , people don't listen to me as well as they used to," he answered. "I'm sure I won't make it better with this move, but well, never liked the majority of them anyway."

Hermione looked at him, that expression when she expected him to correctly answer a question on her face and he rolled his shoulders. "So, just to be sure I get it right, you want us to start over."

Malfoy nodded and Harry glanced at Hermione again. "Okay," he nodded. "What about Ron?"

"You and I both know Weasley, and I will try not to insult him, but we will never see eye to eye," Malfoy said and Hermione made an irritable sound. "Too much has happened and in all fairness, he's just as much a bigot as I was."

"I—"

"Don't Harry," Hermione whispered. "I've had this discussion with him, and you won't win it. He has excellent points."

"Malfoy has excellent points? My God, what has happened to the world, if he has good points?" Harry muttered, rubbing at his temples. He looked around the library. He watched the walls filled with books and inhaled the musky air, Hermione loved so much.

He looked at Hermione. She was looking at him with that 'I'm-a-girl-and-I'm-cute' look and he felt his resolve crumble. He looked at Malfoy, who looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but here and he sighed. With Ron playing tonsil hockey with Lavender at every nook and corner of the castle there weren't really so many people he could talk to. Malfoy didn't seem ideal, but at least he was a boy. An annoying ferret-boy. He probably would have to stop calling him ferret, if he agreed to this truce…

"I— I agree," he finally said before sticking out his hand. "A truce would be for the best."

Malfoy looked slightly surprised, before taking his hand and shook it. Harry sat back in his seat and Hermione beamed at him.

"So are you two—?" Harry started, his cheeks heating up.

"—Canoodling?" Draco Malfoy answered slyly and Hermione elbowed him. "No, we're not," he told him swiftly, eyeing the bushy-haired witch with a worried expression.

"Not that it's any of your business," Hermione said snottily.

Harry grinned and scooted forward. "So, is it true you have a dragon on your back?" he asked Malfoy conspiringly and was rewarded with the comical widening of his eyes and the slacking of his jaw.

"What?"

"Lavender Brown insists you have such a tattoo on your back." Harry told him matter-of-factly and Hermione hid her amused grin behind her hands.

"And we are believing Lavender Brown because her reputation of having the right end of things is that reliable?"

"No," Harry admitted, "but there was that part of arrogance and the meaning of your name which made it very legit."

"Fuck you, Potter."

"I'd rather not."

"No, you'd rather do that with Cho Chang, right?" Malfoy asked suggestively and Harry felt his cheeks turn red.

"Go to hell, Malfoy."

"And just for a second, I thought this truce would actually work," Hermione muttered.

"You're asking for miracles, Sweetheart," Malfoy told her, and she glared. "I'm not a miracle worker, so this will take steps."

Harry nodded vigorously. "Yes, _baby steps_!"

"Oh, and now the two of you are agreeing." She muttered before standing up and slinging her bag over her shoulder.

"Where are you going?" Malfoy asked suspiciously and Hermione smiled sweetly at him.

"I have ancient runes to go to," she told him matter of factly and Malfoy's frown deepened. "Why don't you help him with Potions?"

Harry knew when she was up to something and he knew when he was being played. He might normally not know what she was up to because Hermione Granger made that quite impossible to guess, but he knew what she was after now. Judging from the annoyed frown between Malfoy's eyebrows; he knew too.

"Since when am I eligible enough in Potions to help someone?" he asked dryly.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you said you were better at it?" she told him sweetly and Harry practically saw the gears in Malfoy's brain work to formulate a satisfying answer.

"Well, he is Snape's favourite pupil…" Harry added in unhelpfully and Malfoy shot him a look that could curdle milk.

"Snape's favouring only goes so far, I really am good at potions," Malfoy muttered.

"Then tutoring Harry wouldn't be a problem." Hermione summarised happily.

"Hermione!"

"Bye boys!" she singsonged before leaving the library in swift steps.

"She is a horrible Gryffindor," Malfoy muttered.

Harry glared at him. "And why is that?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Because that was a Slytherin move, Potter," Malfoy answered, rubbing his eyes. "Are you really having that much trouble with Potions?"

"I—"

"Why am I even asking, I know you are," he muttered to himself, before pulling his bag off the chair next to him and depositing it on the table, rummaging through it for, what Harry suspected was his potions book. He found it seconds later. It was full with notes and old essays which seemed eligible and he saw at least three outstandings when Malfoy flipped it open. Draco leant his elbows on the table while opening it before Harry.

"What are you having trouble with?" he asked, cradling his chin with his left hand.

Harry blinked a few times. "You are patient enough to tutor someone?"

"You're forgetting I'm used to Crabbe and Goyle." he shrugged, "If you're worse than them, you really have a problem."

Harry eyed the book with distaste before pulling it closer rifling through it. He wasn't necessarily terrible at potions, but he wasn't great at it either. The timing and the ingredients, which were poisonous one moment and had a healing effect the other, and the stirring while still adding… He was just bad at Potions.

"Potter?"

"Uh, you might quicken this if I tell you what I _do_ understand…"

"Merlin…" Malfoy muttered, before pulling his book back and opening it on a random page. "Right, why not just read through this? I take it you don't understand the magical theory?"

Harry swallowed. Malfoy probably deducted that from all the bad grades he kept getting in the bloody subject. Pinching the bridge of his nose he shrugged non-committal. When he got his hands on Hermione, he would strangle her. "No, I don't."

"Okay," he said nodding.

Malfoy was, surprisingly, a truly patient teacher. He explained the theory in a way that made it all understandable and Harry wondered if that was how his relationship with the two oafs worked. He explained them the magical theory — how else did you become so capable in dumbing magical theory down until even a five-year-old could understand it — and Crabbe and Goyle threatened the people who worked Malfoy on his nerves.

"—and the Asphodel?"

"This is not related to the true asphodels," Malfoy answered, tapping the name absentmindedly with his index finger. "These flowers, which are actually called Narethcium ossifragum, are used against a fungal infection. That's probably why it's a key ingredient in the cure for boils."

"But they are poisonous."

"So are snake fangs, but they cancel each other in combination with the other ingredients." Malfoy explained, "That's why the timing is so important."

"And what if I still don't get why it cancels each other?"

"You don't really have to understand why and how, as long as you understand why there is an order to the ingredients; it's because, combined with the temperature, the _bad_ traits cancel each other out."

"Well, I suppose I do," Harry answered, from the corner of his eyes he noticed Madam Pince glance at them with a frown. Harry wondered is she was waiting for the combustion that would never come and smiled. "We really must make a strange sight."

"Yeah, I'm still coming to terms with it."

"Still debating if you should say something insulting?"

"You don't look like the type who would fare better if I did so, and I'm already glad you haven't started throwing things around in some silly anger tantrum."

"Do Crabbe and Goyle do that?"

"Unfortunately."

Harry absentmindedly glanced at the clock on one wall, before grimacing. "I have to go, or else Snape will get on my case— _again_."

"Snape?" Malfoy asked, snapping his book closed and frowning at him.

"Yeah, he's tutoring me." Harry stumbled to explain.

"Well, that isn't helping too much. He should cover the basics with you, instead of whatever he lets you do."

Harry felt his cheeks grow red. Why couldn't he have said he was meeting Ron? "He's not tutoring me in Potions, he helps me with Occlume—" he started to say, before snapping his mouth shut.

"Occlumency?" Malfoy asked, shifting to the edge of his seat and seemed far too curious to be healthy. Why couldn't he be like Ron. Clueless unless you spelled it out for him. Malfoy was still curiously waiting for him to elaborate and Harry rolled his eyes.

Harry loosened his tie. "Yes, Malfoy. And if you would do me the tremendous favour of keeping your mouth shut about this." he muttered, "No one is supposed to know."

"Except Blaise and Theo, who was I going to tell?" Malfoy asked dryly, before putting his textbook away. "How did you get Snape to tutor you anyway? You might have missed the memo, but he hates you."

"Yes, well, that might be the fucking reason why I can't hide my memories from the arsehole." Harry snapped flippantly.

"If you cannot hide, deflect," Malfoy told him matter-of-factly. Harry wondered how stupid he was looking because Malfoy sneered and Harry felt his hands ball into fists. He jumped up, aggressively flinging his book bag over his shoulder, when he noticed Malfoy copy his motions.

"This is exactly why you can't do it, you do realise that, don't you?"

"Come again?" Harry snapped, and he noticed Malfoy's eyebrow twitch.

"These anger tantrums…." Malfoy told him and Harry opened his mouth to argue. "Don't deny it. If you cannot control your emotions and with that your thoughts, you cannot learn Occlumency."

"Yes, well I cannot feel nothing!"

"Jesus Potter, haven't you read the magical theory on it?" Malfoy snapped annoyed and Madam Pince gave them both a look that barely left anything to the imagination.

"Now you really sound like Hermione," Harry muttered, feeling his cheeks heat up again.

Malfoy rubbed his temples, before shaking his head. "I really wonder how you survived all those problems you get yourself in if you don't read up on your subjects beforehand."

"Well, oh wise one, what am I supposed to do?" he answered sarcastically. "Because you seem to have all the answers…"

"You don't have to stop feeling, you have to try to conceal them. Try to look at them from afar. Basically, because you don't do that, you're so easy to needle."

"Oh, and you don't react when you're needled?"

"Sometimes I do, but I can control myself well enough to keep someone away from my thoughts." Malfoy shrugged. "Thereby, if I can't keep someone out, I deflect; I keep pushing a random memory to the front and wait until the person using Leglimency to get tired of it. Have a fun day, Potter."

"Go to hell," Harry muttered although the real menace remained out of his voice.

When he stepped into Snape's office half an hour later, Snape was standing at the other end of the room. The shadowy room was lined with shelves bearing the hundreds of glass jars in which slimy bits of animals and plants suspended in variously coloured potions. Harry barely glanced at the stone basin engraved with the runes — the Pensive — and stopped just in front of Snape's desk. The gangly Potions Master had his back to him and Harry drew in a nervous breath.

' _If you can't close your mind, then deflect with a memory, learn to deflect…'_ he muttered to himself.

Harry inhaled sharply and waited for the Potions Professor to make the first move. His knuckles had turned white around his wand and opened his eyes again; looking Snape in his dark beady eyes. "Legilimens!"

o.O.o

As the last bell rang, Hermione shut textbook and gathered her stuff. Slinging her bag over her shoulder she left the Ancient Runes classroom.

She set course towards the Gryffindor Tower, dashing up the steps quickly. She recognised his footsteps before she saw him. Feeling the corners of her lips lift up, she slowly stepped away and backed herself up in a dark alcove. She wasn't sure why she felt the need to hide or spy on him, instead of actually saying something to him. She just wanted to watch him for a moment.

Malfoy seemed tired, his right hand massaging his temple and his lips were pursed. His outer robe was carelessly slung over his shoulder and Hermione watched his shoulders tense and relax. Her heartbeat was quickening and Hermione felt her mouth getting dry. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she rocked on the balls of her feet. What had to be a cruel accident at first was now a cherished memory. Her cheeks heated up as she thought back at the way her body felt against hers, or how his lips felt on hers.

Hermione rubbed her temples. She waited until the blond disappeared completely from view and exhaled loudly. No matter how madly he could make her heart beat, she wasn't glad about the new-found observations.

Noticing him meant opening a can of worms she wasn't really ready for. But noticing him, she did. She noticed his pale complexion and the light pink tinting his cheeks when he was embrassed or when was playing Quidditch. Noticed the angular jaw lines and the broad shoulders. He wasn't lanky or overly tall like Ron — still a good few inches taller than she and Harry —, but he had muscles in all the right places and very beautiful grey eyes which held an intensity — when he wasn't sneering at you — to look right through you.

Hermione's mouth felt dry. Her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth and her cheeks bloomed with colour.

She would ignore the situation, she had to ignore the situation. She had done so the last few weeks — after all, she knew where her feelings had been heading of to when she stopped being jealous of Lavender Brown and started being jealous of Pansy Parkinson — and she would continue to do so.

Her cheeks had grown hot and she slowly slipped out of the alcove and decided to take a long, lonely walk through the castle, until she found herself outside of a blissfully empty girls' lavatory. Splashing water onto her face, she glanced at her flustered reflection.

The largest reason to keep ignoring the confusing tangle of feelings the blond was recently stirring into her, was because he would never look at her that way. He might have started to see her as human — she was reasonably certain he did see her as human now — but that was a large step away from actually seeing her as a girl he would ever consider being with.

Hermione ran her damp fingers through her hair, cursing her outrageous insecurity and absentmindedly adjusted the knot of her scarf.

She just needed time, dealing with this. Yes, all would return to normal if she just got used to the idea to have a snarky _friend_. She could do that, even if it might take awhile.

After all, Hermione believed, you could choose to fall in love…

 _To be continued…_

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 **A/N: Yes Hermione, you can choose whom you fall in love with, but in your case, I'd say you're already too late.**

 **I'll also admit the part conceal your feelings was largely based on the movie frozen (conceal don't feel). Anyway Draco is good at potions. Harry didn't seem good at it at all, and fifth year wasn't really a year in which he cared much for his school work, which means a match made in heaven.**

 **Anyway I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Not much about the Potion or the suspect(s). More about that in the next chapter. I had also been planning to make this chapter about Ginny, but that didn't work out. I needed Hermione to sort out what she felt to make the rest of the chapters (which are all but finished) to make sense.**

 **For those of you who are confused, yes, Ginny is covering for her brothers. No she's not completely right about them being the ones who drugged the fire whiskey. Feel free to fire away who else might have been involved.**

 **Someone thought about Oliver Wood as a suspect, and although I really like him for it, he's no longer a student. I think third year was his final year at Hogwarts, so he wasn't available. The problem with the suspects is not only who has a problem with (one of) the Slytherins, but who has motive and had the opportunity.**

 **Either way, please comment! I will resume the normal update schedule. Updates will be each week at a Thursday. The story 'through my father's eyes' will be updated tomorrow.**

 **Harry Potter doesn't belong to me, but to J.K. Rowling**


	14. Chapter 13, The Article

**Chapter Thirteen, The article**

' _Don't spread with your mouth, what your eyes didn't see,'_

 **G** inny Weasley glanced awkwardly at her brother's best friend. Hermione Granger was picking at her food, completely moody, and Ginny knew it was her fault. The moment she told her that they didn't have a culprit anymore (because obviously Professor McGonagall was above all suspicion), but she knew Hermione would figure it out eventually.

Ginny needed to think what she should do.

Could she really betray her own brothers? Ginny didn't think she could do that. Ginny dropped two cubes of sugar into her tea and added a bit of milk. Blaise Zabini was making eyes at her. They met up at least once a week. He was becoming a pattern, sleeping with him was becoming a pattern. And she liked it.

She glanced at Hermione Granger again. Even though she was upset, far too pale and frequently feeling faintly, her need to get outstanding grades on all of her tests hadn't changed. Her interactions with Draco Malfoy became more often and Ginny saw the older girl fall for him. She dropped another sugar cube in her tea, absentmindedly fiddling with her tea spoon.

Ginny chewed at her lower lip and glanced at her brothers. They were acting like nothing happened. They hadn't reacted that evening when Ginny came in the Common Room after sleeping with Blaise for the first time.

" _It's absolutely disgusting!" Fred Weasley had said, menacing smirk on his face._

" _Drugging the alcohol, that's illegal." George added._

 _Ginny wrapped her outer robe tightly around her body and felt her cheeks flush. They weren't aware what had happened to her yet. Leo Jordan, his pet-spider scuttling over his outstretched arm, grinned: "Perhaps they'll send him to Azkaban for that."_

" _That would be lovely." Ron, her youngest brother added and Ginny felt herself turn a blotchy green before dashing up the stairs to the Dorms. She was still feeling dizzy from the foul lucid syrup she had to swallow and didn't want to hear her brothers go on and on about all the Slytherin-sluts putting out. If they only knew that she, their youngest sister had put herself out there as well._

 _Ginny squeezed her eyes shut and fell back on the bed._

She glanced at her brothers again. The rage that had been bubbling under the surface of her skin felt hot against her. Prickles of electricity ran up her arms and legs. She had always loved Harry Potter from afar and because of them…

They had denied it of course. Told her she got it all wrong, but when she demanded for an explanation, they didn't say anything. She shot several nasty hexes at them that day. Screamed until her throat hurt and her voice was hoarse. She suspected they'd put a silencing charm up around their bedroom because no one had said anything to her afterwards.

When she'd returned to her own dorm, she locked herself into the bathroom and then the sobs, quiet and dry, stated to wrack her body. It felt as if her lungs, desperate for air, where unable to expand enough and when she started to see spots before her eyes she opened the door and fell in the arms of one of her roommates.

Daisy Thomson rubbed circuits around her spine and stroked her hair.

Ginny didn't want to think about it. She set her cup tea down and Blaise caught her gaze again and Ginny took a tentative sip of her tea. It was too sweet. She ignored the delivering of the post and nodded at Blaise. He looked as if Christmas came in early. She left her tea cooling down on the table and left the Great Hall swiftly. He intercepted her just as she ascended the stone steps.

She grinned. Enjoying his warmth, enjoying his ability to make her forget about anything and everything.

Warm strong arms wrapped around her and grinned, momentarily forgetting about her brothers. She was swiftly twirled around and her back pressed against the jagged stone of the wall as he pressed his lips against hers. They took off towards the Greenhouses, stumbling in their haste. Her pulse stuttered in her veins and she wrapped her legs around his waist. All thoughts about her brothers were gone before he pulled her robes apart.

o.O.o

Hermione Granger almost dropped her spoon when the morning paper fell down in front of her. Ten big moving black-and-white photographs that filled the whole of the front page. Nine showed the faces of men and the tenth was the face of a woman's. Some of the photographs were silently jeering, while others were tapping their fingers on the frame of their pictures. Each picture was captioned with a name and a crime for which they had been sent to prison.

"Hermione?"

"Here," she whispered, before spreading the newspaper on the table in front of the two boys. "A mass breakout from Azkaban," she whispered, her eyes glued to the woman in the paper. She was the most striking of all of them. She had long dark hair that looked unkempt and strangely like her own, she glared up at them through heavily lidded eyes and an arrogant, disdainful smile playing around her thin mouth. Hermione could easily tell she used to be a very beautiful woman, but Azkaban had taken most of her beauty away from her.

Hermione felt her lips draw back into a sneer. This was the woman who was responsible for Neville's incapacitated parents. Worrying her lower lip, she let her eyes flit through the rest of the article. "Harry!"

"What?" he asked gloomily, glancing up at Hermione and she pointed her index finger at the paper again. Harry followed her finger and she saw true anger pass his face then.

 _Mass breakout from Azkaban_

 _Ministry fears Black is rallying point_

 _for old Death Eaters_

"They're blaming Sirius—"

"Be quiet," Hermione whispered and her shock worsened as she read through the death of Broderick Bode, being strangled to death by Devil's Snare in St. Mungo during Christmas. Harry whispered something along the lines from: 'We even saw him there,'

Hermione let her fingers trace over the glaring faces in the paper and Ron inhaled sharply. She looked up slowly, frowning at the redhead, sitting in at the other side of the table.

He looked awestruck. "That's why he was so happy, Harry!" Ron whispered, and Harry angrily elbowed Ron in the chest.

"What does he mean, Harry?" Hermione asked, raising an imperious eyebrow.

"Nothing," Harry muttered doing a poor job at distracting her with a clumsy gesture to the salt and if she wanted it.

"Harry!" she hissed, not all that happy to let her friend change the topic of conversation. "I thought you were actually getting a grip on it. I thought you were actually managing to keep him out."

"Perhaps you should try it for once, it isn't as easy as you might think!" Harry snapped and Hermione breathed in slowly; keeping her own temper in check.

"Fine," she replied through clenched teeth, "I won't bring it up again."

Harry nodded and resumed glaring at his glass, while Hermione went back to reading the paper. She glared at the faces of the escaped inmates and felt her nails dig into the palms of her hands when she noticed the multiple jabs against Harry and Dumbledore again.

With a scowl on her face, she carefully glanced at the High Table. Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were deeply conversing together; both looking extremely grave. At the far end of the table, Umbridge was grudgingly tucking into a bowl of porridge. For once her little toad eyes remained on her bowl, instead of sweeping through the Great Hall looking for, what she considered as, students who were misbehaving.

Lessons resumed with a strained normality that made Hermione's skin itch. Neville didn't say a word to anyone, although he received more than enough stares and she felt her heart ache for him. It wasn't until after third period that she noticed the whispers.

The whispering voices, slightly different in their hostile tone. They sounded less hostile, and more curious than anything and Hermione felt slightly better knowing people weren't really buying the _Prophet's_ stories anymore.

People weren't satisfied with the _Prophet's_ version of how and why ten inmates escaped from a fortress-like Azkaban. Thankfully they weren't buying their excuse how Sirius Black had helped them either. People were turning to Harry and Dumbledore — ' _Perhaps they have been telling the truth after all_ ' — to hear the story and that made Hermione pleased.

She went to secretly visit the Quidditch pitch, hidden under the invisibility cloak — which she _borrowed_ from Harry — and watched the Slytherins practice. Or more accurately watched _him_ practice. She would watch him fly around the goals, diving suddenly, twisting, manoeuvring, chasing after the little golden ball and smiled to herself.

She wouldn't tell anyone, but he flew incredibly well. She wondered; if he wasn't constantly taunting his opponents — mainly Gryffindor, it was like he couldn't control himself —, would Harry still have beaten him.

She never understood the charm flying held. Whenever she got near a broom she felt gooseflesh run over her arms and legs and panic rise. He didn't seem to agree with that. He flew with confidence and experience. He held himself with ease and had obviously been doing it since childhood.

As another Hogsmeade weekend came closer, Hermione escaped to the library. She'd spent the complete time twirling her quill through her fingers and tried to ignore a group of Hufflepuffs who kept shooting her looks and trying to catch her attention. She had a massive assignment due on the Goblin rebellions for Professor Binns and she didn't have time for four giggling girls. Therefore she'd packed her book — which held plenty of information — and decided to finish it in the Gryffindor Common room two hours lately.

Which was a bit of a bad idea…

She had all but set one foot inside the circular room when Ron accosted her. She wasn't even sure where he had come from, but now he was standing in front of her; a roll of parchment pressed to his chest and a goofy smile on his face.

She could see through it all though. Beneath the disarming smile and the open blue eyes, she noticed the confused frustration, as though he was annoyed that he even had to bother with his homework, and was quite pleased he ran into her.

"Hermione, can I borrow your notes from History of Magic?" Ron asked the next day, it was the week before Hogsmeade — Valentine's day — and he wanted to go with Lavender, without homework assignments hovering above his head.

She gave him an annoyed look. The praise 'borrowing her notes' was just another way of saying he wanted to copy them and hand it in as if it was enough for an essay.

"Why?"

"I need them to finish my assignment." he told her eagerly.

She raised an eyebrow. "You need them, to finish your assignment?"

"Yes— Well, no," he admitted. "I still have to start."

Hermine blew a strand of curly hair out of her face and bit down on her lower lip. For weeks he didn't speak to her, and now, when he needed help with his homework, all was forgotten. She knew she shouldn't give her notes to him. She shouldn't let him use her like that, but she was tired of their fights, and if this meant he would lay off of her then so be it. Thereby, her notes wouldn't be enough for him to finish his homework anyway. Hermione knew he had probably jus realised they had the essay due tomorrow and since she didn't really feel like doing Ron's homework for him she dug her notes out and pushed them into his chest.

"Fine, but they don't cover the entire essay, you'll have to do some reading as well." she told him matter-of-factly, before sliding down into a comfortable scarlet armchair.

"I know where I knew the name Bode from, by the way." Ron suddenly told them. Harry looked up from his essay, only mildly interested and Hermione sighed.

Not even here could she work on her essay in peace. "What are you talking about Ron?"

"We met him during Christmas, remember Harry?" Ron explained, glancing at Harry with raised eyebrows. "He was in the bed and—"

"Yes, I know Ron, he's the one who was in the accident at the Ministry," Harry answered, tapping his quill against his parchment.

"Yes," Ron nodded, "Dad says he is an Unspeakable and worked in the Department of Mysteries."

Harry looked up sharply. "You think—"

And Ron nodded vigorously. "Not that they'll admit it of course. They say it is an accident, instead of a murder, but let's face it You-Know-Who had something to do with it."

Hermione closed her book with a thud. Several students were curiously glancing at them and several had expressed to become privet to what had happened that night last June. Something had to be done. She wasn't going to sit leisurely back and watch the media stomp all over Harry again. Pushing her book in her bag she slung it over her shoulder.

"Where are you going?"

"I think I know how—" she whispered absentmindedly, passing a group of mad giggling fourth years and nodded at a surprised Harry and Ron. The answer had been staring her right in the face, just as last year and Hermione grinned. "And I'm the only one who can— I have to go, I need to go and sent a letter."

"Why does she always do that?" she heard Ron mutter. "Would it kill her to just tell us what's she's up to?"

Rolling her eyes, she slipped out of the common room and set course to the Owlery. The stairs to the highest tower at school were twisty and slippery. Hermione went straight for the school owl she always used, luring it down with a few treats and smiled when it landed gracefully next to her.

"I need you to deliver a letter," she whispered, quickly penning a note on a piece of parchment, before rolling it up and tying it to the owl's paw. "This is for Rita Skeeter!"

She smiled to herself as the owl took off, flapping his wings against the wind that blew chillingly against its feathers. She knew Rita Skeeter would take the bait. After all, Hermione had one over her. Just last year, the journalist had gone after Hermione, printing details of her life she couldn't have known unless she had very crafty means of intruding on someone's privacy. And crafty means she had, because Rita Skeeter was an Animagus, a beetle, and could get near you without a hitch.

Hermione knew this and therefore had leverage against her. Enough leverage, that she could demand her to write an article — under her own name — about an interview with Harry, although she wasn't going to tell her that over a letter, and Hermione would send it to a publisher who actually would place it without editing it.

Smiling again, she thought about Luna's father. She didn't think much about the Quibbler, but Xeno Lovegood would never edit someone's articles and therefore he was the most logical choice. Chewing her lip in thought, she pulled a blank sheet of parchment and a quill, balancing it on her knees.

Yes, the Quibbler was odd, but at least they didn't have a filter over what they published. Nibbling onto a sugar quill, she slowly wrote her letter to the editor and rolled it up, lured another owl down.

"This is for Xenophilius Lovegood; he's the editor of the Quibbler." she whispered, sending it off.

Readjusting the knot in her scarf, she trudged down the winding rickety staircase again. Wrapping her arms around her middle, she was about to take the last steps down the rickety staircase, when Argus Filch rushed past. She swallowed the scream almost ripped from her throat died into her mouth and she clutched desperately to the railing of the staircase.

"I know what you did!" he yelled, spit flying from his mouth. His pasty face scarlet and his pale eyes bulging.

"What?" Hermione gasped, trying to calm her erratically beating heart.

"I know you ordered them!"

Hermione felt her mouth slack open. "Ordered what?"

His unusually purple nose quivered in rage and the veins in his cheeks twitched angrily. "You ordered Dungeboms!" he snarled and Hermione raised an eyebrow.

He had used that exact same excuse on Harry a few months ago, but she couldn't say that. Taking another bite of her sugar quill she shook her head tiredly. "No, I'm out of those," she explained, holding her sugar quill up for inspection. She was out of them, it was the absolute truth, but she could buy upcoming Saturday.

Filch wheezed loudly. Hermione knew without a doubt he couldn't prove anything and she hid her smile behind her hand when he sniffed disdainfully and stomped up the stairs. What he hoped to find there, Hermione didn't know.

Massaging her temple with her right hand she quickly descended the last few steps and was out of the corridor when Filch came down again. Even from the distance, she heard him wheeze and hiss in anger.

"Crackpot," she whispered under her breath in a very un-Hermione-like version. She shook her head, before continuing towards the Gryffindor room. If she was honest she had been very un-Hermione-like since she'd come back to Hogwarts after Christmas. Adjusting the straps on her bag, she passed through the portrait hole and climbed the stairs to the girls' dormitories.

o.O.o

Hermione woke up the morning of Hogsmeade with a sense of impending doom. She had an appointment with her least favourite person that morning: Rita Skeeter.

The D.A. meetings had started again, and Harry had decided to move on from offensive spells to defensive spells. Neville was making tremendous progress and Hermione was glad he was channelling all the negative energy into something positive. Hermione hastily scraped a brush through her hair and glowered at Lavender Brown as she sneered at her.

Just the day before Hermione received a reply from Luna's father. He was more than happy to print the article, but he would do so without any charges. Hermione doubted Rita Skeeter would be pleased about that, but quite frankly she didn't care.

Hogsmeade weekend fell on Valentine's Day. Various shops in the little village had large posters stuck up the windows. As she made her way to the Tree Broomsticks, Luna Lovegood in tow, she shuddered as she stared at the pictures of the ten escaped Death Eaters. Luna seemed blissfully unaware and hummed a bright song. Hermione had asked the younger girl to accompany her to the meeting — after all, she knew her father — and opened an umbrella against the light drizzle.

"They're offering a reward," she said dreamily.

"Yes," Hermione answered, glaring at the sneering face of Bellatrix Lestrange.

The Three Broomsticks They took a seat in a far corner of the cafe. Hermione even noticed Hagrid skulking around, dark bruises on his face and a slight limp in his step. Whatever he was doing, it was not in his job description. Rita Skeeter arrived half an hour later and reluctantly took a seat next to Luna Lovegood.

They met Harry an hour later — after his date with Cho. Hermione sniggered when she noticed his shocked face, before waving at him. He neared the table with slow calculated steps and slowly lowered himself into a chair next to Hermione.

"You're early," she told him, before pushing her unfinished goblet of Butterbeer towards him. He took her goblet and tapped his index finger against the rim of the cup.

"Why?"

Hermione shrugged; "I don't really like it."

"Why is she—" Harry asked, his eyebrows drawn together. Rita Skeeter twirled her acid-green quill through her fingers; her scarlet nails were chipped. Hermione smirked as she gazed at her blonde hair hanging lank and unkempt around her face. Unemployment didn't sweet Rita Skeeter.

"We've got a deal," Hermione told her best friend matter-of-factly.

Rita Skeeter glared at her, before slamming her glass down onto the table. The decanter of whisky shuddered onto the table and she sneered at Hermione; "What deal?" she snapped, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. You haven't mentioned a deal yet, Miss Prissy, you just told me to turn up. Oh, one of these days…"

Rita Skeeter took a shuddering breath and Hermione sneered at her, interrupting her before she could finish the sentence: "Yeah, I know, you'll write more horrible stories about Harry and me. Well, I don't care!"

Hermione raked her fingers through her frizzy hair and cleared her throat; "Besides, they are running plenty of horrible stories about Harry this year without your help, so really find someone who cares, why won't you?"

"Yes," Skeeter answered, shooting a sideways look at Harry over the top of her whisky glass and a small smile started to pull at her lips. "They did indeed. How did that made you feel; betrayed? Distraught? Misunderstood?"

"What do you think yourself?" Hermione huffed before Harry could say anything. "He feels angry obviously because he's told the Minister for Magic the truth Minister's too much of an idiot to believe him."

Although Rita Skeeter wasn't too pleased when she heard the terms of the interview, she got excited when she understood she was allowed to run with the story. She kept shooting vile looks at Hermione, but since she had no other choice agreed to do the interview under her terms.

While Rita did the interview — keeping the nasty comments to a minimum — Hermione sat back in her seat. Sipping slowly on a newly ordered glass of water.

As she took a long sip of her water, she thought she saw a glimpse of blond pass her peripheral vision. Almost choking on her drink, she hid her quick reddening face behind her mock. Her stomach fluttered and somewhere below that something stirred.

With her face turning scarlet she left Harry and Skeeter alone, excusing herself politely. If there was anyone she didn't want to sniff out her _new love interest_ than it was Rita Skeeter. Hermione wasn't a fool. She knew that after this favour she asked from Skeeter they would be even, and Skeeter could go selling her stories to the papers again. She certainly didn't want to be the subject in one of those stories.

Her stomach lurched again, but this time she felt sick. "I'm sorry!" she whispered dashing past Rozemerta and into the bathroom, emptying her stomach of her morning's breakfast.

"Are you all right, honey?" a voice asked from behind her.

"I—" Hermione started, glancing up from her crouched position, to see Madam Rozemerta stand in the doorway. "I— I think I might be coming down with something."

Maybe all the stress she had been experiencing was finally wearing down on her. Or it was the strange potion Fred and George had been working on this morning. She'd thought it smelled odd. The curvy woman stepped further inside the cubicle and rubbed comforting circled along Hermione's back.

"Do you need anything?" she asked softly, and Hermione felt the sickness clear from her head slowly.

"Yes," Hermione nodded, "I'd like a cup of Yasmine tea." she admitted.

Whenever her stomach got upset Yasmine tea helped. Madam Rozemerta nodded, leading her Hermione

When she returned to their table, a cup of Yasmine tea clutched in her hands, Harry was nervously explaining who was in the graveyard when Voldemort had been resurrected. Luna frowned at her when she slowly slid back into her seat. She had been in the middle of humming 'Weasley is our King', when Hermione took her seat.

"Are you okay, Hermione?" Luna asked dreamily.

Hermione smiled tentatively and took a careful sip of her jasmine tea. "I'm fine Luna, just tired."

Luna nodded, curling a blonde lock of hair around her finger and sucked on her cocktail onion. She kept her enormous, protuberant, slightly mad grey eyes onto Hermione. Hermione kept her eyes onto her cup of tea.

Rita Skeeter glanced up from her notebook and took a sip from her Fire whisky. Harry ignored the way both Luna's and Rita Skeeter's attention shifted to Hermione and kept explaining about what Voldemort had looked like and how he called for the other Death Eaters to the graveyard. Hermione's strange behaviour was forgotten instantly when Harry started to name the _respectable citizens_ , who had been there that day at the end of June. Her Quick-Quotes Quill scribbled passionately onto the piece of parchment.

"And what more?" Skeeter asked eagerly.

Harry shook his head. "The portkey took me home,"

Skeeter nodded, and smiled almost nicely, before putting the quill and the parchment back into her crocodile bag. "Right, then I've got everything," she announced curtly. "Is that enough Miss Perfect?" she asked looking at Hermione.

Hermione barely refrained from rolling her eyes. "Yes, _Miss Perfect_ thinks this is enough."

"Wonderful," Skeeter answered coldly, before turning to Luna. "I expect I'll have to send this to _the_ _Quibbler_ when I'm done?"

Luna nodded excitedly, dipping her cocktail onion into her Gillywater. "I don't know when daddy's going to print the article though. He still has that story on the recent sightings of various Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and of course, that'll be a very important story, so Harry's might have to wait for the following issue," Luna explained.

Rita nodded, slung her crocodile bag over her shoulder, and quickly strode out of the cafe, before disapparating. Luna put the onion into her bag — Hermione stared at Luna in silence for a moment, considering a tactful way to ask what exactly she was going to do with an onion — and skipped off, out of the cafe.

Hermione smiled, watching as the blonde-haired Ravenclaw skipped through the crowded street, out of sight.

"You're ready to go?" Hermione asked as Harry rubbed at his scar.

"I can't believe you orchestrated this." he muttered and Hermione shrugged.

"Something had to be done," she answered, before paying for their drinks. "So how was your date?"

"Good until your name fell," Harry answered.

"What?"

"I made her angry," Harry admitted, "I don't know, I told her I had agreed to meet you, and she got angry with me."

"You're such a fool," Hermione muttered, shaking her head.

 _To be continued…_

* * *

 **A/N: And here is chapter 13. Although I wasn't planning on it, I'm not planning to make this completely AU (of course it is, because it complete disregards the epilogue and large parts of THP and the DH), and some things should still happen in this story. Thereby there is a lot that is going to happen and the escaped Death Eaters and Umbridge downfall are part of it. Of course there is also something Hermione will have to face very, very soon. Some of you might have guessed already…**

 **I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, please comment!**

 **Harry Potter does not belong to me, but to J.K. Rowling.**


	15. Chapter 14, Reactions

**A/N: Thank you all for the wonderful reviews. I love them! Many of you expressed the wish to see more Blinny, you'll get it, but not in this chapter. It won't necessarily have a lot of Dramione either. Yet it is necessary.**

 **Enjoy chapter fourteen. Do comment.**

* * *

o.O.o

* * *

 **Chapter Fourteen, Reactions**

' _I'm a good enough person to forgive you, but I'm not stupid enough to trust you ever again'_

 **I** t was the middle of February, and the weather was a bit chilly. Cloudy skies and harsh winds flew over the mountains and around the ancient Howarts' castle. The OWLs were vastly coming closer and homework was piling up. Hermione Granger was keeping up, but her friends only barely. Still, she had been slacking her studying department and she'd spent the last two hours making up for that.

Hermione exhaled loudly, her pencil poised above a piece of parchment. Stacks of books loomed around her, but she just wasn't inspired for this project. Right now, she didn't really care much for her Transfigurations homework. She was too tired, and she always enjoyed picking her own subject, instead of writing an essay about the laws of human transformations. Hermione had been forcing herself to try for at least an hour, yet she only had a scant pair of paragraphs to show for it. The clock at the wall was ticking loudly in the silent room and practically any sound was distracting her from her assignment.

The ticking of the clock, the wind rattling the windows, Madam Pince returning books to the shelves, but most of all her own thoughts.

Harry and Ron were relying more and more on her, and she was becoming increasingly irritated with her two best friends. She loved both Harry and Ron — after breaking up with a clingy Lavender Brown, Ron had started their friendship again — but she got tired of them always putting their homework off until the last moment. It annoyed her to no end, that they still expected her to hold their hands through all of their homework assignments, while they glanced dreamingly through the air, or worse; played exploding chess.

They were fifteen years old, and they acted like little children. She never understood they always waited till the last moment. Not even their homework planners put any change into that. Even though she had jinxed them to vocally help the boys remember (something they didn't appreciate all that much).

Hermione yawned. She had spent all of last evening helping Harry _and_ Ron with their Potions homework. Rubbing her tired eyes with one hand, she adjusted the straps of her bag with the other. Leaving the library with slow steps, she twirled a lock of her hair around her index finger.

Her mood lightened considerably when she noticed the familiar blond fighting the bustling crowd that was converging down the Great staircase, most likely going to the Great Hall for breakfast as well. He was alone, like he always was nowadays and Hermione quickened her steps.

Hermione stepped closer, invading his personal space. He raised an eyebrow, his blond hair messily framing his face. "What are you doing Granger?"

She grinned stupidly and elbowed him playfully. "Got out on the wrong side of bed today?"

"You're so annoying." He whispered.

"You're normally a morning person." Hermione pleasantly shot back and Draco let out a long suffering sigh.

"You're normally not." Draco countered, stretching his arms up in the air. "Besides it's the early afternoon."

They passed a group of students gathered around some parchment. Hermione's lips quirked in response. After Rita Skeeter's article had been published, the Quibbler had been banned into the school. Umbridge had immediately retaliated with a new degree, but that didn't do anything to stop the students _or_ the teachers from reading it.

Hermione had watched Harry's mood clearing. He had received dozens of response letters — the majority still thinking he was _barking mad_ — the following morning. As her smile grew she felt Draco Malfoy tense from beside her. It was as if he just figured something out and his expression turned dark.

"It was you, wasn't it?" he asked suddenly and Hermione's eyebrows rose higher and higher.

"I don't understand…"

"Potter's article," he answered, and she noticed the muscles in his jaw tense. She hadn't thought about that. She hadn't thought about what it would mean for him when she'd written to Rita Skeeter. She hadn't thought for a moment that this, this might hurt him.

Her face seemed to be answers enough. He sniffed disdainfully, glaring at her in anger, before backing her up against the wall. "And here I was, thinking you wanted a truce…"

"I did, I do!" she told him helplessly. "I—"

"Yes, I suppose dragging my father's name through the mud would do that." he snapped menacingly.

"I—" she started, eyes wide and mouth slowly slacking open. She hadn't thought about that before. Why hadn't she thought about before? Harry had called Draco's father out as a Death Eater, along with the fathers of a few other Slytherin.

"I get why you're upset, and— yes, I admit it was my idea, but I hadn't thought about this before." she mumbled urgently.

"Oh," he retorted sarcastically. "You think I'm upset, Granger?"

Hermione swallowed. "I'm not upset," he told her threateningly, "I'm furious."

For a moment they both stood there, a heavy silence gripping them. After what seemed like hours, but what were only a few minutes, Malfoy pushed himself off the wall and started walking towards the Great hall. Hermione blinked against the hurt and pain pressing against her skin.

Hermione had seriously boggled it all up.

She was in a daze during lunch. Her plan had gone smoothly, but she hadn't expected to drive Draco Malfoy away. She never thought that would be a bad thing, but it was. When she refused to eat, Harry wordlessly handed her a cup of Yasmine tea.

"Thank you," she smiled tersely at her friend, hands clasped around the teacup.

Ron was sitting on the opposite of them, shoveling his breakfast — scrambled eggs and sausages — down and Hermione felt her stomach twist in disgust. Why couldn't he at least pretend he knew basic etiquettes?

She caught Ron glance at her with a frown, "Are you quite all right, Hermione?"

"Peachy," Hermione retorted tersely, opening the morning paper with far more force than was necessary.

Still, even hidden behind the newspaper she caught Ron exchanging a worried look with Harry. Harry looked at her as if she would bite his head off and she realised with no small stab of amusement, they were thinking it was her time of the month.

Ever since Ginny started to menstruate, the boys had realised with growing horror that _Hermione_ was subjected to it as well — they really forgot she was a girl half of the time, but after snipping at them and almost hexing Ron the boys had come to the painful conclusion that they needed to be careful around her when she was having her cycle.

Scratching at the back of her hand, she worried her lower lip. She certainly was more sensitive and agitated as of lately, and she definitely was in a horrible mood today (which she would like to pin solely on Draco Malfoy, but she knew that wasn't fair).

She secretively glanced towards the Slytherin table. He was slowly eating a piece of toast while ignoring Pansy Parkinson as she tittered away at him. His glazed expression and the slack in his jaw made his distraction the more obvious.

As she emptied her tea-glass, Harry motioned Ron, and he, with a tight smile took her cup and filled it with tea again.

They really thought she was going to bite their heads off…

"So Hermione," Harry asked her casually, "how is your homework coming along?"

"Great," she mumbled. Oh yeah, they were thinking code red, all right.

"Good," he breathed softly, opening one of his fan-letters with a small nod to Dolores Umbridge. Harry got an uncanny pleasure from pushing the woman's buttons, and Hermione couldn't help the small smile pulling at her lips.

She glanced at Malfoy again, catching his gaze. She expected him to look away, at least pretending to listen to his friend, but he didn't. His eyebrows raised slightly, and his jaw tensed. Another stab of quilt shot through her. She had hurt him, and the knowledge she did, while he was nothing but pleasant to her, had been the only one to really support her (even when he didn't mean to and was just being awkward), and she had gone stomping over his feelings. She hadn't thought about his father, and the fact that she'd forgotten his feelings in the process had blackened her mood.

Hiding her face in her hands, she sighed audible.

"I swear she—" Ron started, an edge to his voice.

"Shut up Ron!" Harry whispered back, that same edge colouring his voice as well.

Annoyed with their inability to be subtle, she chugged the rest of her tea, slung her bag over her shoulder and left the Great Hall with quick steps. With her fingers fisting into the hem of her of her skirt, she glanced across the room, where Malfoy was sitting. He wasn't staring at her, which she for some reason had hoped, and she felt her gut tighten, before lowering her eyes.

o.O.o

By Thursday night, Hermione had finished all of her homework. Whenever she got upset she threw herself in her studies. Harry, Ron and Hermione thought she was just stressed out from all the workload she was carrying (she was after all taking more subjects then they were, and they were more difficult as well). Combined with the lack of sleep — she truly didn't sleep well — and the amount of reading for her additional subjects, she'd spent most of her free hours and up late into the mornings studying.

Rubbing her aching cheeks she flipped through the Quibbler. Her eyes scanned over Harry's story again and she grimaced.

Draco Malfoy had gone out of his way to ignore her. Even in their shared classes he barely spared her a glance. Still he did keep to his end of the bargain, and he didn't insult Harry even once.

Harry's Occlumency sessions weren't going all too well. Harry relied on his emotions far more than she did, and by night he started to dream about Voldemort again. When she heard, she felt annoyed.

Apparently he'd seen one of the escaped inmates, through the eyes of Lord Voldemort. Harry was convinced this inmate, Augustus Rockwood, would help Voldemort get his hand on the mysterious weapon they were not supposed to know anything about. Hermione was sure Harry wasn't supposed to see. He was supposed to be learning how to close his mind to this sort of thing, but he just couldn't. Or he just didn't try hard enough, Hermione wasn't sure. She knew how much Harry hated Snape and she also knew how much he hated having to learn Occlumency from the greasy-haired teacher.

Why could Harry not try harder? She would admit that what she'd said next could have won a prize for the least comforting words ever spoken in the history of mankind; 'I think we should just try and forgot what you saw, and you ought to put in a bi t more effort on your Occlumency from now on.'

She would admit she more than once forgot the human element in what she said. It was one of her tragic flaws. She just wanted to help, but she always forgot the way her words carried. Hermione was a logical person. She considered her options clinical and she founded her arguments logically, trying to act in the best interest of everyone, but she stopped to consider people their feelings.

Harry became so angry with her, he started to ignore her as well. On a brighter note she learned with a slight dose of surprise, he received two A's in Potions. She didn't know how he managed that, as he hadn't asked her for help…

Hermione bit her lower lip aggressively and curled her fingers around the edge of the desk. Putting the newspaper away, she collected her books and parchment, before leaving the library with quick steps.

Hermione was twenty minutes late for dinner. She ran a hand through her tousled hair, and crossed the hallway towards the staircases.

She wondered absentmindedly if someone else was tutoring Harry. He never had much patience with her, whenever Hermione tried to help him. Fool-proving his essays, all good and well, but trying to explain the magical theory of a subject, that wasn't. Hermione tried to help him. After all she took her studies seriously.

She hailed from a family of Muggle dentists. Both of those parents wanted her to follow them into their footsteps, taking over the dental practice they had started when they'd just finished dental school. Both of her parents wanted her to fair well into her studies. They stimulated her to always try her hardest, and she wanted them to be proud.

Hermione was so engrossed in her thoughts, she didn't notice where she was heading. She was about to turn a corner, when she realised she was going the wrong way for the Gryffindor Common Room. Voices drifted up her ears. It was sudden, unexpected and she jerked backwards at the sound of the voices. It must have been a side effect of being friends with Harry and Ron, because she instinctively hid out of sight, just before Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy passed her.

None of them noticed her hidden from sight, only by a mere shadow falling over her. Hermione didn't think they would have seen her even if she had just leaned against the opposite wall under the light of the torch anyway.

From the absolute dread on Nott's face, Hermione would say something was definitely wrong, but Malfoy seemed only barely capable to keep from laughing.

"Please, Draco!"

"You're actually begging me?" Malfoy asked, an easy lopsided grin, she'd never seen before, edged on his face.

"You know how to get rid of her!"

"Yeah, but we both know that in doing so would mean she would start following me again." he responded, pushing his hands in his pockets.

"But she is so clingy." Nott muttered; reminding Hermione of a petulant child.

"Pansy has always been clingy," Malfoy answered, and slowly their voices started to dim. "Just ignore her. She'll take the hint eventually."

"And Crabbe and Goyle?"

"They won't," Malfoy answered, Hermione had to strain her ears to hear him properly, "they need someone to follow and we both know, they won't follow me again."

"My life— sucks."

She wasn't sure what more was said, but Hermione could guess. Waiting for a few more seconds, she straightened and turned the corner quickly. She'd thought from the moment Malfoy started to ignore her, the other Slytherins would see that as a sign the conceited bigoted boy was back again. After all, she hadn't told anyone why they stopped talking, leaving Malfoy to spin whatever story he wanted.

Feeling a sudden headache coming up, she quickened her steps. A slight nausea settled into her stomach and she hurried down the corridor that led to the Gryffindor Common room, when she heard someone wail.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on edge and her furrowed her eyebrows. With lips pursed, she reluctantly turned around. She meandered through the castle slowly, listening absentmindedly to the methodical clacking of her heels against the flagstone floor, while following after the screams.

Several other students were following after the sound as well. They passed through the empty Transfiguration corridor, down several flights of stairs. The screams seemed to be coming from the Entrance Hall and Hermione slowed as she crept outside. The sun had only gone down recently, but the shadows on the walls and flagstone floors were huge and sky had a purple hue to it, while an ominous ink black sky slowly diminished the remnants of the twilight sky from the edges.

The sound had grown the loudest and Hermione pushed slowly through the crowd. Professor Trelawney was standing in the middle of the Entrance Hall, her wand in one hand, and an empty sherry bottle in the other. Her hair was frizzled and sticking up on end, while her glasses stood askew on her nose. Hermione noticed her read and puffy eyes and felt her hands become sweaty.

Two large trunks lay toppled over on the floor beside her, as if someone had thrown them at her feet and the woman was staring, frightened and blinking rapidly, towards all the students and, when Hermione took a good look around, the teachers.

"You really didn't see this coming?" a voice asked, syrupy sweet and with a drawling edge to it.

Hermione understood now. Dolores Umbridge had finally decided to sack the Divination Professor. Some bizarre sort of silence depended down upon them. Hermione didn't think the students had ever been this silent.

"You c-can't!" Professor Trelawney howled, big tears rolling down her cheeks behind her lopsided glasses; one eye more magnified than the other.

Hermione didn't like Professor Trelawney, nor did she think tightly about Divination, but seeing the woman this upset made her toes curl. Umbridge on the other end seemed callously amused; smiling wildly

Trelawney gave a mighty sob and wiped her face with one of her innumerable shawls. "I've been here for sixteen years." she babbled, wrapping her arms around her frame as if to comfort herself. "The castle is my home!"

"It was your home," Umbridge corrected with that same sweet voice and Hermione felt another wave of revolution go through her. The woman was enjoying Trelawney's pain immensely; her face alight, and a smile stretched her toad-like mouth even wider.

Murmurs and whispers rose, when the Divination professor's knees buckled and she started to sob in earnest. Professor McGonagall stepped away from the crowd, comforting their colleague and then Dumbledore appeared.

The oaken front doors swung open, revealing a white-faced Dumbledore. Hermione only knew the man with a friendly exteriour and twinkling eyes. Of course she knew he was a very strong wizard, but up until then she had never thought about his ability to perform magic. She could feel the magic prickle her skin, when he passed and although he smiled pleasantly to Umbridge, the twinkle in his eyes was gone. Several students scuttled nervously around and Hermione wanted to roll her eyes. What did they think? That he would hex the woman with all these spectators?

Although Umbridge remained the right to fire a teacher, she could not ban them from the castle nor from the grounds. It was a true struggle for power, if Hermione had ever seen any. Umbridge's amused smile fell from her face when Professor McGonagall started help Trelawney up the stone steps and away form the Entrance Hall.

As if Dumbledore had decided it was the absolute right day, to push Umbridge's buttons even more, he appointed a new Divination Professor then and there. Hermione vaguely remembered Harry talking about him before, when the Centaur Firenze galloped in.

Umbridge looked beyond furious. It was no secret that she hated 'half breeds'. Her behaviour towards Hagrid had made that obvious. Certainly, another 'part-human' creature didn't sit well with the woman.

Hermione smiled spitefully, until she looked Draco Malfoy straight into the eyes. She felt sick all over again…

 _To be continued…_

* * *

 **A/N: And trouble in paradise. The next chapter will be about Ginny. It will be a jump back, because it's easier that way. Either way, let the drama begin. We can't expect Draco to get over Hermione doublecrossing his father, even if his father is a douchebag.**

 **Anyway, like always, please comment!**

 **Harry Potter does not belong to J.K. Rowling.**


	16. Chapter 15, Quidditch

**A/N: And although very late here is chapter fifteen of Crimpson peak. At first, I wanted this chapter to be about Ginny, but I just didn't find the inspiration. This is mostly because she knows who is behind the pranking and yes, I know many of you have already an inkling about who was involved, but you might not be completely right (kukuku). Anyway, next chapter will be a step back, looking into Ginny's life and her relationship with Blaise. She fairing better with her Slyterin than Hermione does with hers, I will admit that.**

 **Instead of that, though, you do get a nice inside in Draco's mind.^^**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling**

* * *

 **o.O.o**

* * *

 **Chapter fifteen, Quidditch**

 _'When do you realise you were one of the monsters'_

 **T** he rest of February passed with a lot of rain. The air outside smelled of raspberries and vanilla, clean and fresh and wafted into the castle through the open windows. Hermione inhaled the fresh scent with a small smile. She loved the scent that permeated the grounds just after the rain had fallen. Harry and R

Hermione ran her hands through her damp hair, which wasn't nearly as frizzy wet, as it was dry. She intended to get a quick bite of breakfast and then head down to the dungeons to get a head-start on their potion from Professor Snape.

The wind whistled in through the open window and the tiles under her feet were cool and her cheeks were flushed with blood. She had been studying meticulously for her O.W.L's the last few days and only saw Draco Malfoy in passing. After seeing him briefly when Trelawney received the last note, Hermione forcibly started to avoid looking for him or talking to him. The latter easily achieved as he refused to speak more than three words at her. And he only spoke them, when he absolutely had to — like when he needed something from the same bookcase and she was in the way; 'Step aside, Granger'.

She hadn't had a proper conversation with him in nearly two weeks. And on top that, it seemed Harry had started to bloody confide in him too. She had no idea how that had happened, but she suspected Harry had grown tired of Ron's constant groping of Lavender and then when the redhead broke it off, Harry grew annoyed by Lavender's constant whining.

The Great Hall was strangely quiet so early and Hermione smiled to herself. She always woke up early at six, which her best friends considered an ungodly hour, so she wasn't surprised to see nearly no one there yet. With a book in her hands, she slumped onto the bench and lathered apricot jam onto a piece of toast.

Hermione thumbed the edge of a yellowed page, before glaring at a scorch-mark on the table. She hadn't exactly expected _her_ best friend to become all buddy-buddy with her love interest. As if summoned by an unknown powerful force, the chair across her table dragged across the wooden floorboard.

Harry Potter had lowered himself in the chair across from her. He was angrily rubbing the back of his left hand and Hermione momentarily forgot her anger. "Are you all right?"

He smiled sleepily, before shaking his head tiredly. "Umbridge," he stated matter-of-factly.

Hermione felt an angry flush surge through her cheeks and she set her quill down. "That horrible toad!" she snarled. "Why did you have to stay in detention this time?"

"I insulted her in the hallway," Harry answered simply and Hermione felt her brows furrow together when she could detect no true spite. "She happened to overhear me, and we both know how much she loves putting me in detention."

"You seem awfully calm about it," Hermione observed carefully, scooting forward into her seat.

Harry shrugged. "I had a breakthrough with Occlumency," he admitted.

"Oh," Hermione retorted dumbfounded, "That's great Harry!"

"Yeah," he nodded, "So— How are things with you?"

That was a weird question. Hermione bunched up the sleeves of her robe and raised an eyebrow. Harry's smile slowly dropped and he shrugged slowly.

"I talked to Malfoy— right, Draco, I can't get used to using his first name— and he told me you and he have a bit of a crisis."

"You actually talk to him about me?" Hermione said, her jaw slacking and her eyes widening.

Harry's cheeks reddened. "Well, we don't normally." he admitted, "But I did try to make him believe it was all my idea. I know you like him."

"But you don't…" Hermione whispered, "And yet—"

"Well," he admitted, "He's not as bad as I initially thought."

"I see,"

"The arsehole didn't believe it was my idea." Harry continued. "Thought I didn't have enough control over my temper to pull it off."

She sniggered.

"You do realise he's not one of us. He's not like Ron nor is he like me. He doesn't get over his grudges that easily."

"Since when are you the voice of reason?" Hermione asked and Harry shrugged.

"Since I bother him with complaints about Snape," he told her honestly. "You were the one who wanted this truce, I'm only keeping to my end of the bargain."

"And here I was, thinking I shouldn't hope for miracles," Hermione muttered, before closing her book with a thud. "Where is Ron?"

"Hell that I know," Harry moaned. "He _was_ arguing with Lavender… Again! I realise Ron hasn't been very fair to her, but I certainly am not planning to come in between them. And if he doesn't want to have a— dysfunctional relationship with her again, he should stop snogging her to keep her satiated."

Hermione grimaced. Even though Ron broke things off with Lavender he seemed to really enjoy the attention he received from her. More than once did she find them snogging in a corner of the castle and then when he was done he fell back into ignoring his _ex_ -girlfriend. It made Hermione slightly skittish. But she was also worried. Worried because of something she'd heard…

It had been an awfully long day. They had covered the Patronus charm during D.A. meeting that afternoon and although she had been able to produce a silver mist, it was still non-corporeal. Even thinking about her failure made disappointment grip at her heart. _  
_After assuring Harry that she was okay — he knew how much she hated to fail at anything — she headed for the nearest exit of the castle. She needed a moment to herself and the stone walls were too confining at the moment.

 _Hermione adjusted the knot on her scarf and wandered down the covered walkways surrounding the courtyard. She passed Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil in hidden from sight by thick large bushes on the sixth floor._

 _Hermione watched Lavender with dull sympathy as she threw up into the trash bin. The darkness of the classroom made the scene slightly confusing, but she still heard Parvati's word clearly._

 _"First he takes your first time, and then he walks out on you? Arsehole! Don't worry we'll get him for this."_

 _"It was so perfect, Parvati." Lavender hiccuped. "He was so gentle. He even went through the trouble of renting a room at Rozemerta's!"_

 _Her mind slowly pieced the information — drunk Lavender crying in an abandoned classroom — together. She didn't think you needed to be a genius to figure out she and Ron had broken up just after she'd slept with him. Hermione grimaced. She'd known Ron had grown devastatingly tired of Lavender, but not tired enough to reject the offer of a pretty girl._

 _Hermione wondered absentmindedly if that was why Ron had been rather pleasant to her. She knew he liked her. She could tell, now that she wasn't blinded by jealousy. She could tell, now that she didn't like him anymore. At least she no longer liked him that way._

"Hermione?"

"Yes?" she answered absentmindedly. "Well, Ron just have to grow up and deal with her. It's not fair for him to use her the way he does."

"Were you listening to me at all?" Harry asked slightly amused and she flushed

"Well, feel free to tell him, because I'm not getting in the middle of that again," Harry muttered.

Hermione rolled her eyes and sopped a biscuit into her strong English tea. Harry made a face and she shrugged: "I like it this way."

"You like the strangest things."

"Several people like to dip their cookies into their tea." she huffed.

"Yes," Harry muttered, "but not so many like to dip their sugar quills into their tea."

"That was only once," she muttered, unfolding the Daily Prophet that just arrived. As her eyes scanned that days headlines.

"Hermoine,"

She looked at him over the edge of her newspaper and raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Try and speak to him!"

"And here I was, thinking you'd approve if I took some distance from Malfoy," she muttered, sopping another cookie into her tea.

o.O.o

Icy pellets of rain pounded on the castle, a loud pitter-patter sound echoed through the halls. Pansy Parkinson quickened her footsteps through the corridors, as an icy gust of cold air blew the hair out of her face. Her fingers are tightly clasped around that morning's printing of the Daily Prophet. How dare Harry Potter slander her father's name?

She exhaled loudly, the fingernails of her right hand digging into the material of her neatly tailored pencil skirt. As if she wasn't going through enough without Potter trying to bring the Pure-blooded families down.

Suddenly a tumultuous gust of damp, bitter-cold air whistled through the cold dungeons. She was going to take a long soak into the warm water of their bath, when suddenly Snape's office door violently flung open, causing it to bounce off the wall with an ear-splitting crash. A pot hurled through the open door and Pansy yelped, pressing her back against the cold stone wall. Shattered glass littered the floor with a smash, echoing across the hallway.

Harry Potter hurried out of the door, glasses askew and eyes wide and frightened. Pansy looked at him flabbergasted. When Snape appeared in the door-opening as well, Potter bolted. Pansy saw his face in a flash and felt even more confused. She'd never seen Potter look so horrified, shocked and confused.

What the hell had he been doing in Snape's office anyway?

"Miss Parkinson, what are you doing here?"

She smiled apathetically at her head of House and shook her head. "Just passing through, Professor. That was until Potter almost slammed straight into me, what was he doing here, anyway?"

Snape's eyes narrowed and Pansy smiled sweetly. "Never mind Professor!"

There was a loud clap of thunder, lightning flashed over the stairway up to the Entrance Hall and Pansy quickly stalked across the corridor and disappeared out of sight through the hidden Common room entrance. The entrance hall was alive with the low rumble of conversation. Pansy couldn't really concentrate on the subjects, didn't really care either way and moved further into the room.

Her cloak ominously swished as she moved elegantly and aloof around the room, settling in her chair in front of the fire. As far as Pansy knew, Potter didn't have any detentions with Snape and yet he was still in Snape's office during his free afternoon.

Bloody Gryffindors and their many secrets.

o.O.o

The remainder of February slipped away faster than he'd thought was possible. Umbridge had sacked _Professor_ Trelawney, not a day too early in Draco's modest opinion, and it was only because of Dumbledore's interference that she was allowed to stay in the castle. The new Divination Professor was appointed almost right at the spot; a Centaur from the Forbidden Forest, Firenze. And Draco had thought their Divination classes couldn't get any worse.

With their workload doubled and Quidditch practice, Draco had barely time to breathe. Draco sighed into his water bottle inconspicuously and tapped his pencil against his chin. He noticed Hermione Granger watching him from her seat next to a library window. She had a thick tome opened in front of her while she propped her face upon her right hand.

And with the constant gossip about the escaped Death Eaters and his father's possible the next time Draco Malfoy saw Hermione Granger was during the Quidditch match from Ravenclaw against Slytherin. She looked stressed and angry and Draco almost smiled when he noticed her lips draw back into a sneer. The Weasley twins — he didn't know and he didn't care which one was who — were obliviously walking in front of her.

He gazed at her, as she, flanked by Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom, hugged her book-bag against her chest while absentmindedly listening to whatever it was Potter was talking about. He hadn't meant to stare so long, but as he did, she suddenly looked away from Potter and looked directly at him. Her eyebrows knotted together and she gave him a look he'd only ever seen on his dogs; raw pain. Draco was once again reminded that she was a Gryffindor and couldn't lie to save her life.

He caught himself, just before he lifted his hand at her in greeting. Running a hand through his blond hair he made his way to the Slytherin changing room.

Although he honoured the truce he'd agreed on with Potter he didn't really acknowledge Hermione Granger. He would never admit, not even to himself, but he missed their intellectual conversations. Blaise Zabini winked at him when he glanced past him to Granger again.

"She likes you!" he mouthed at Draco and Draco rolled his eyes.

Lately, he couldn't help remembering the feelings she had stirred inside of him. He remembered how she dug her hands under the hem of his shirt, the had felt cool when she'd trailed over his hips, leaving a trail of fire over his stomach and hips.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He had started to kiss and nip his way along her jaw and down the side of her neck. She then tipped her head back, moaning softly, to give him better access.

"Well, I'm benched," Blaise told Draco as he stepped up next to him.

Crabbe and Goyle eyed them strangely before they stepped onto the pitch with a stupid grin etched onto their faces. Draco was about to follow them when Blaise grabbed him by his shoulder.

"You are always benched, Blaise." Draco retorted absentmindedly, glancing at the hand on his shoulder. "You do realise I am not benched, don't you?"

"I know," Blaise nodded, "I was curious. The match isn't for another hour and I just saw Granger."

"So," Draco asked immediately annoyed. "I saw her too, together with wonder boy and Longbottom. Didn't Lovegood wear a shirt in our House colours?"

"So you were able to notice _all of that_ , but you haven't noticed Granger eyeing you like a lovesick puppy."

"You're insane,"

"Perhaps I am, but honestly Malfoy, she fancies you. And she isn't doing all that well in hiding it. Even Pansy is able to see it. And that's saying something!"

"Pansy thinks that any girl who even breathes the same air as I do is a possible treat to her perfect life," Draco answered sarcastically. "We both know how much she fancies my bank accounts."

"What's not to fancy?" Blaise drawled sarcastically, and Draco glowered at him. "Do entertain your girl though."

Draco was about to open his mouth when _she_ spoke. Right from behind him.

"Malfoy?"

He closed his eyes and almost groaned. Hermione Granger was standing there, nervously fiddling with the hem of her jumper. A grey scarf, obviously self-made, was wrapped around her neck.

Draco raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Granger? Why aren't you up in the stands?"

"I—" she started,

He snorted. Perhaps it was rude, but he wasn't really in the mood to deal with her right now.

She inhaled sharply, her jaw jutting forward and her hands curling into fists. "You were right," she whispered. "I was the one responsible for the interview. And I know you are angry, and I realise you have the right to be angry—" sniffle, "—but I miss our pointless argument and—"

Oh Merlin, she was going to cry. He didn't like crying girls. It made him uncomfortable and as she wiped her hand at her eyes, he felt slightly bad. Insufferable bookworm for making him feel like this.

"Can't we just talk about this—" she muttered

"Listen," he sighed, "And I can't believe I'm having to say this to you, but you cannot expect me to get over this. You—"

"We all make mistakes, don't we?" she asked swatting at her hair in anger. "I— made one mistake, because I didn't think… I didn't think! And how are you only angry with me, and not at Harry?"

"It wasn't his idea…" he mumbled unhelpfully and moreover Harry Potter had the whole world against him and Draco had gotten the distinct impression the bespeckled boy would have hexed him if he had turned on him. No matter if he deserved it or not.

"I—" she turned red, her cheeks blooming scarlet.

"You're what?" he asked tiredly.

She started to wring her hands together. She watched him carefully, before flitting around, looking as if she wanted to run. He'd seen that look before. And he felt his stomach constrict; because he knew that she had looked that way when she glanced at Weasley before all went to hell.

"You…"

"Did you really just notice now?" she mumbled seeming even more embarrassed. She fiddled with both ends of her scarf and then, all of a sudden she grew quiet and her body started to shiver. Draco was unsure what he should do and took a step towards her when she paled considerably. When she went as white as a ghost he started to really worry.

"Granger?"

"I don't feel so well." she barely managed to whisper and he barely caught her when she fainted. In the distance he heard the rumble of laughter and cheers, the match would start in fifteen minutes and he was here alone with a quivering Hermione Granger, who may, or may not, like him more than just the annoying bully he used to be.

"Fuck," he swore, before slowly hoisting her up. He should get her to Madam Pomfrey. What was wrong with her?

"It's okay," she mumbled, her hands patting his shoulder feebly. "It happens often. I don't seem to be able to shake this flue," she mumbled angrily.

"Flue?" he asked slowly, sceptically, but the colour was slowly returning to her pale and sweaty face, so he reluctantly put her down on her feet. "Why don't you go see Madam Pomfrey then?"

"With Fred and George cooking up all those stupid potions, it's a miracle we aren't sick 24/7." she admitted, before squeezing his shoulder. "Can't we talk about this. After the match?"

He sighed, before nodding. "I suppose,"

She smiled. Her smile broad and her eyes gleaming brightly.

"Right," he mumbled awkwardly. "I have to go now though."

He had already turned around when she grabbed his sleeve.

"Malfoy," she cried, he turned his head around slightly, leaning heavily onto his broom; eyebrows raised. She smiled closed the distance and tentatively pecked him on his cheek. "Good luck!"

He wanted to respond to that, but before even a word had left his lips, she turned around and dashed away again. Fit as a fiddle and he shook his head again. Girls would forever remain a mystery to him.

Leaning his broomstick onto his left shoulder he couldn't help the pleased grin that spread across his face as made his way up the Quidditch pitch. He passed the waves of emerald Slytherin supporters, who cried happily when the team took off in the air.

Half an hour into the game and Draco's mood improved even more. They were leading 100 against twenty. Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw Seeker had tried — and failed — to rile him up with petty insults, but whenever he glanced at the Gryffindor stands, neatly tucked between Potter and Longbottom, he could see _his_ Gryffindor girl turn a bright shade of red, before smiling tentatively at him — he sure as hell had never expected her to ever smile at him like that.

And that's when he noticed it; glinstering just before the teachers' stands. Draco inched forward, refusing to lose sight of the snitch again. Crabbe intercepted a Budger, whacking it towards one of the Hufflepuff chasers, and Draco stretched on his Nimbus.

o.O.o

Hermione took her usual spot in the Gryffindor Quidditch stands again, sliding down between Harry — which actually felt a bit unusual, even though he wasn't playing — and Neville. She crossed her legs, sitting on the wooden bleachers and intertwined her fingers on her lap.

Malfoy caught the snitch after half an hour in the game and she clapped — as did Ginny from one row behind her and even Harry reluctantly admitted he'd done nicely.

"It feels a bit weird for us to cheer for Malfoy," he muttered, as the students started to leave the stands and Hermione raised an eyebrow at him.

"It feels weird you and him are not insulting each other at every corner of the school." Hermione shot back and Harry gave her a lopsided grin. The wood creaked under her feet and Hermione felt another wave of nausea hit her. Bile rose in her throat and she inhaled softly and held herself up on the balustrade.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Yes, I'm fine," she whispered her head clearing almost immediately.

"She's not," a second voice piped up, and Hermione was surprised to see Ron, without Lavender fanning all over him, glancing over Harry's shoulder. "She's been feeling sick all week."

Hermione glared at him and shrugged at Harry who looked instantly worried. Hermione sighed. She was suddenly cold, exhausted and hungry. And she wanted a sugar quill, but that was a no-go, because she ran out of them that morning.

"Is that true?"

"I'm fine, just a stomach virus I don't seem to be able to shake." she answered stiffly, she would be damned before she'd agree to Ron she was feeling under the weather.

Harry shook his head. "Now that I think about it, you have been looking pale lately," he said thoughtfully and Hermione felt her eyebrows knot together. It never worked well when her best friends started to be observant. "Why don't you return to the common room? Mabey Ginny can stay with you until we get back?" he muttered to himself and Hermione shook her head.

"I don't need a nurse," she told them but was slightly amused by their worrying. "I see you later."

She knew better than to argue with Harry. Especially when he had _that_ look on his face. Whatever she ate that morning surely didn't agree with her, because when Ginny came up into the girl's lavatory, she found Hermione curled on the bathroom floor, clutching the edge of the toilet bowl. Her face was pale and sweaty, her mouth slightly opened and her head pounding.

"Oh, poor thing," Ginny whispered, stepping into the bathroom and wetted a washcloth. It was cool and pleasant to her skin and Hermione groaned when Ginny dabbed her face motherly. "So what's wrong?"

Hermione wiped at her mouth and leaned her back heavily against the wall. "I don't know. It is a lot like the flue, but whenever I think I've shaken it, it comes right back again. I get sick and sometimes I feel faint, I don't know, Gin. I think I don't react well to Fred and George's muffins."

"You ate one?" Ginny asked a motherly expression that was eerily similar to Mrs Weasley crossed her face.

"Yes," Hermione muttered, "Well, I didn't know what they were…"

"I see," Ginny muttered before furrowing her brows. "but no one is experiencing the reaction you are, though."

"Well, lucky me," Hermione muttered, "look how special I am."

"You're getting some colour back," Ginny remarked, pressing a lukewarm glass of water into Hermione's hands and paced through the bathroom. The redhead came to a stop in front of Hermione's school robe.

"What happened here?"

The stains looked even worse now that they were dry. Large yellow stains adorned the hem of her robe and Hermione shrugged. "A potion was spilt on it."

"I see," Ginny muttered, "I don't really want to know what was in that…"

Hermione rolled her shoulders and stepped towards her school robe. "The House-Elves haven't been able to wash it out of my robes."

"It's yellow," Ginny mumbled, grimacing at the stains.

"Yeah, perhaps Belladonna, I think I've read somewhere they give these kinds of stains," she mumbled, rinsing her mouth and rubbed her hands together. "I think I'll make it an early nighter."

"All right, get well soon, 'Mione!" Ginny whispered, nervously fiddling with the fashionable zipper on her jumper.

"Thank you, Gin."

 _To be continued..._

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 **A/N: Well, they at least are talking again. Look at that, Malfoy actually has a heart. I really liked to write this chapter too, I hope you all enjoyed it and please comment!**


	17. Chapter 16, Unforeseen circumstances

**A/N: Is it true? Yes, it is. Another update. Horribly late, because I couldn't get this chapter right. I know I've promised to make a few more chapters about Ginny (and they will come), but only after the culprit of the love potion is caught. The latter will take some more time, as there is another problem I have to address. I applaud you all who've rightly figured out Hermione's problem (perhaps I wasn't all that secretive about it anyway) and I will admit to one thing.**

 **The person who drugged the whiskey was not Fred and George! Yes, they've got something to do with this, but it wasn't them. They just don't care that the Slytherins got 'pranked'.**

 **They might reconsider in a later chapter though...**

 **Leave a review and make my day:)**

 **Anyway, on with the chapter. Here is chapter sixteen.**

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 **o.O.o**

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 _ **Chapter Sixteen, Unforeseen circumstances**_

'It's not a lack of love but a lack of friendship that makes unhappy marriages' — Friedrich Nietzche

March was starting off miserably. An endless drizzle had fallen onto the Scottish Highlands, the sun was obscured by clouds. Hermione cornered him in the library. The assignments the fifth years got were swiftly reaching an alarming height. Harry and Ron were constantly skipping lunch to try and make up for lost time and would corner her into the common room to foolproof their work.

Hermione was keeping up, of course, but even she was barely holding her head above the water. She was studying every day for her upcoming OWLs, even though, she still had two months left to prepare. She believed one couldn't start too early when studying in regard to exams, and they had quite a lot of work to go through.

Twirling her quill through her fingers she groaned. Draco Malfoy glanced up from the book in his hands with a frown. They had started a tangible relationship again and although he still was somewhat annoyed with her, at least he wasn't angry anymore.

The tension between them was awkward and obvious and electric. He had slipped down onto a wooden chair, ankles crossed and his posture nonchalant. They were (again) studying in the library and Hermione was very much aware of the boy sitting only one seat away from her. Usually, Hermione was very good at keeping a level head. It was a trait she liked most about herself, but that day, she kept losing herself in thoughts. Her eyes strayed from her book and unwittingly strayed to his pale jaw and neckline, following the curve of his throat. He wore a crisp, white shirt collar and liked to suck his lower lip between his teeth. The memory of kissing neck and those lips, made her breath catch in her chest. Her gaze slid up his cheek and was instantly charmed by his dark blonde eyelashes as he blinked. He was rather unfairly pretty. She had never noticed before that he was indeed quite handsome. Following the curves and angles of his face, she felt her face turn red when her thoughts made a somewhat unwelcome turn. A tingle had started in her lower belly and she remembered how much she had liked him as a lover. He licked his lips (must have done that on purpose, the bloody tease) and when he did it again, she shuddered. Her face was brilliantly red when he looked up.

"Granger, erm, you're staring," he whispered and she was somewhat delighted when a dark flush spread across his cheeks.

She couldn't help it and surged forward. She kissed him first, just like she had done weeks ago. They had locked themselves up in the charms classroom after hours. He'd probably bullied a poor house-elf into bringing up some sweats and tea and they had one of their arguments. She'd been sipping a cup of tea and was in the middle of explaining forced marriage and how although things might have changed the last few decades, most wizards and witches were still somewhat backwards. He had stopped paying attention. His hair was tousled and he looked sleepy, as he held the book in one hand and searched the page for whatever word he thought he needed, probably to stop her rant.

She'd smiled, as a strand of pure-blond hair fell in front of his eyes. Without thinking about it, she sat up straighter, reached over and brushed it out of his face.

He'd stiffened; eyes locked on her hand and mouth slack, his next word caught in his throat. Her fingers still linger over his forehead and his eyes searched her face. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips and his eyes shifted to her lips. He seemed unsure and Hermione had never seen him unsure before. It was endearing. He watched her with a mix of uncertainty and curiousity, waiting what she would do next. She got up slowly, her hand slipping down his cheek to his neck and he exhales loudly. She stepped even closer and she kissed him— softly.

He was unresponsive at first. Stiff with surprise, shock, uncertainty, Hermione didn't know. His hands suddenly cupped her face, pulling her closer, kissing her back. By the time they broke apart, her forehead against his, they're breathing hard. It's strange and enticing; his breath mingling with hers.

He stood up, arms stretched up above his head; his shirt going taut across his abdomen and arms. Hermione's mouth went dry. She was about to follow his example when he leaned his hands on the handles of her chair. His eyes flitted from her eyes to her mouth and back to her eyes again.

Hermione had seen the doubt in his eyes. The worry. Perhaps she shouldn't do this, after all, it went against everything his parents had thought him.

And then he was lowering her head, just the slightest bit and he kissed her then. They still couldn't openly meet. He never told her, but Hermione understood. With his father on Voldemort's side and her being basically the one thing, they tried to wipe away from their world. And he surprised her. Draco Malfoy was not all that keen to show others his feelings, but as time went by, he started to let her in. Harry was, although he might not have been thrilled at first, happy for her. As slowly his and Ron's friendship rekindled, Hermione noticed that something between them was lost.

Now that her feelings were no longer clouding her judgement, she started to see the negative parts of her former love interest. Of course, she had always seen them, but until recently, she'd highlighted the positive parts. He was generous, he might never voice it out loud, but you always knew where you stood with him. He was protective and loyal, although those traits were sometimes clouded by his jealousy. Then he had a way that kept you from drowning in the dangerous and serious matter that always seemed to surround them. His whole demeanour encouraged you to loosen up and have fun.

Draco was, as strange as it sounded, a lot like that. He was fiercely loyal, and she hadn't really expected that. Not really. Over the years she had grown up to know him as a spoiled brat who had everything and didn't care for anyone but himself. But he didn't. He might not be friendly to a lot of people and he certainly wasn't always that great with words, but he showed he cared with actions. He clapped his friend on his back when he was pleased with him. He sat down wordlessly next to her when she was upset and offered her a clean handkerchief — he always had one — and bit by bit she picked up on them.

He loved his parents. And how he could love his father was beyond her because Theodore had told her what he truly was like. Lucius Malfoy was, by all means, an icicle. He didn't know how to show affection, any of it. And had only tried to push his only son. Nothing was ever good enough, and, Hermione now realised, that made him depend more on his mother for moral support than on his father. The mother that had the Black sense of blood purity stamped into her from an early age.

There was no doubt Draco Malfoy was a little prince, spoiled by his father indeed, but she suspected that was more of a way to deal with a clingy child — because, in Hermione's modest opinion, all little children were clingy — than a real show of affection.

As Draco shifted in his seat, his cheeks flushed and a smile on his face, he turned the page of the book they were reading. Her thoughts whirred back to Ron. There was his distinct lack of motivation and enthusiasm for any subject other than Quidditch. He was lazy, manipulated others, mainly her, into doing them for him or copied Harry's essays. Hermione believed the only way to achieve success was through your own hard work. She understood that you sometimes needed help, but that didn't include having someone else do your work.

Then there, of course, the comments. He never cared much for her projects — now did Draco also think she was a tad insane with her talk about House-Elves — and didn't think before he said something. He also made those disparaging comments about her appearance. Unconsciously she balled her fists as she remembered how furious she'd been when he'd told her she wasn't much like a girl and she felt cool fingers travel her up her arms.

"What is it you're thinking so hard about?" he asked, and she smiled apologetically.

"You won't like it…"

"Not about Transfigurations then," he commented dryly.

"No, I was thinking about Ron," she admitted, before shaking her head when his face turned thunderous. "Not like that."

"Then like what?"

"He has been acting normal again, and there was a time when I liked him. I realise now that when I did, I only liked the good parts."

"You've never made much sense, but now you've truly lost me," he told her matter-of-factly and she had to fight the urge to stick out her tongue.

"What I meant is; that it would have never worked. There are so many things I would possibly have grown tired off, that I might have tried to murder him in the future."

"And you like all about me?" he teased and she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Not everything," she admitted. "But now I know you. The parts I don't like I can stand," she whispered and grinned when he rolled his eyes.

"And that while I'm so perfect, even Potter thinks so…"

"Your friendship with Harry is weird!" Hermione accused playfully and his grin turned almost feral.

"I know," he admitted. "It practically defies all the rules."

Hermione laughed now and kissed him again. His fingers hooked in the loops of her jeans; pulling her closer. She doesn't know how they will make it work in the long run. She doesn't know how to make it work. They decided to just take the time they could and would decide how to proceed when school ended.

o.O.o

Rain pounded down on the grounds. Fat, large drops soaking everything in sight and the wind howled through the trees. Hermione combed her fingers through her bushy hair and sighed against the humid air. Her hair was absolutely impossible. Grumbling to herself when a lock of hair rose from electric energy, she filled her plate with scrambled eggs. She was tired, her ankles were sensitive and the only robe which was relatively clean was the one with the dubious stain. She had decided it must have been Belladonna mixed with something because she just couldn't get it out. A glamour charm was the best she could do and she stabbed her fork into a sausage.

"Bloody boys and their stupid pranks," she muttered. She flinched when lightning crackled through the enchanted sky above her, reflecting the bad weather from outside. Another light-flash and the thunder rumbling overhead seemed to make the very room tremble in its wake.

Harry slipped into a seat next to her. "Morning," he grumbled tiredly.

"Long night?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "Snape's assignment took ages. I predict dark clouds gathering above my head."

"I predict detention?" Hermione asked dryly.

"No, it wasn't that bad," he answered, before raising an eyebrow. " By the way, what time did you get back?"

"Huh?"

"I didn't see you get back," Harry explained, pouring a goblet of pumpkin juice.

"Hm, I suppose it was late," she admitted, rubbing her eyes. "I sort of forgot the time."

"I see,"

"How did Occlumency lessons go yesterday?" Hermione asked, taking a bite of her toast. Harry flushed darkly and immediately reverted his eyes. She was immediately suspicious. "Harry?"

"Well enough," he muttered, "Snape reckons I can carry on by myself now that I've got the basics."

"Does that mean you stopped having those funny dreams?" Hermione asked sceptically.

"Yes,"

She didn't believe him. Not even for a bit. But his face clearly conveyed the words: 'don't ask', and she didn't want to pry. No, that wasn't true, she just didn't want to have a fight. But that didn't mean she couldn't ask him how he was doing: "Are you all right?"

"Yes," he answered curtly.

She sighed, her breath escaping from her nose and her eyebrows scrunched up together. She took in his pale face and the dark bags under his eyes and she sighed. "I won't judge."

He looked at her and sat back. "Fine, I don't have lessons with Snape anymore," he admitted, his eyes flitting through the Great Hall, refusing to look at her, and Hermione slowly put her fork down.

"What?" she murmured, "Why haven't you got lessons with Snape anymore? Since when?"

He looked at her, she noticed the defiance creep up on his face and Hermione exhaled loudly. "Something went wrong and he got angry?" she guessed. It must have been pretty bad if Snape now chose to ignore Headmaster Dumbledore's request and refused to teach him anymore.

"I'm fine with that explanation." he angrily replied. "Just drop it, all right?"

"All right,"

He nodded, before getting to his feet without a word. She watched him stalk out of the Great Hall with a mix of anger and hurt but realised he would come to her when he was ready. Ron Weasley followed his best mate out of the Hall, and Hermione slung her bag over her shoulder. She proceeded to jog after their retreating forms.

When they entered the Potions classroom Hermione grimaced. Obviously, something really bad had happened, because Snape was looking at Harry as if he would like nothing more than to strangle the life out of him with his bare hands. Still feeling somewhat angry — although she realised that must make her slightly petty — she slid into a seat at the far right of the classroom, three tables away from Harry and Ron.

Draco slid into his seat next to her and she felt her bad mood dissipate.

"Morning," he whispered and she smiled when he accidentally brushed his hand against her hip. She threw him a mock-angry look and leaned her head on her hands.

She could feel Ron's eyes on them. Yet, she didn't care. She felt bold around him and as they started on their potion, they quietly bantered. Except for Pansy Parkinson, who seemed somewhat peeved by her classmates' behaviour, no one from Slytherin paid them any mind. No one but her, and Ron Weasley.

As Draco stirred the potion and Hermione cut the slugs. With fingers coated into green slime, he poked at her cheek.

"Yuck!" she hissed slapping at his hand with a mock-snarl. "You— horrible— disgusting"

"Yeah," Draco interrupted her, his eyes alive with mischief, "I'm out of ashwinder eggs, could you get some for me?"

"Can't you do that yourself?" she asked, wiping at her cheek, slightly flirting with the idea to fling a slug at his head.

"With those hands?" he asked, and she ducked around his arm and huffed.

"Fine," she muttered, "You idiot."

She got up to her feet, crossed the Potions classroom to the ingredients cabinet and almost screamed when a hand fell onto her shoulder. Ron sneered at her and she sighed. She wasn't all that surprised to see Ron react badly. After all, he had pretended she hadn't gone sneaking off to meet someone (especially not his arch nemesis). She felt the muscles in her cheek twitch and she sighed.

"Why are you being so chummy with Malfoy?" Ron demanded. From behind him, she noticed Lavender raise an eyebrow, but as she was still at odds with the redhead, she stayed out of it. Hermione suspected she even enjoyed seeing Ron all worked up.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, crossing her arms over her chest. How was it possible he was normally as observant as a candle dunked into the water, yet when you wanted him to keep to himself he noticed things?

"I saw you walking into the dungeons together." Ron accused and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Except the part that we just accidentally met on the way down here, you do know Malfoy and I have been friendly with each other for a few months, don't you?" Hermione asked, sniffing at a jar with dillies. "I have been, how did you call it again; chummy? Well, I have been chummy with him for quite a while."

"You mean you've been alone with him?" Ron snarled, his voice echoing dauntingly off against the cold stone.

"I'm glad, I don't have to spell it out!" Hermione snarled, not noticing Severus Snape stepping up behind her. "And after all that you put me through, how dare you to come here and demand explanations? I might have reconciled our friendship, but I sure as hell have not forgotten what an arsehole you can be!"

"Better than a slut!" Ron spluttered back, she noticed Harry jump up from his seat, but before he'd even taken a step, the palm of Hermione's hand connected with Ron's cheek.

"You—" she started, but her mind couldn't come up with a suitable term.

"That's enough!" Severus Snape stepped between the two Gryffindors. His eyes ablaze and Ron cowered visibly.

"Is it that time of the month, Miss Granger?" Snape drawled coldly and some students around her gasped, several ashamed and others horrified. "Mister Weasley, fifteen points from Gryffindor. Miss Granger, back to your seat!"

Hermione felt her cheeks turn red and turned back to her seat. She hid her head behind a book. Draco had tensed beside her and she grabbed his hand when he started to get to his feet.

"Please don't," she whispered.

He looked at her trembling lip, his thumb drawing comforting circles over the back of her trembling hand. "I'm just going to get the ashwinder eggs, all right?"

She nodded dully and he got up, rummaged through Snape's ingredients and returned without a word, taking her hand again. She immediately felt better.

The rest of the lesson passed by quietly. She held her hands in fists to her side. Draco tended to their potion, glaring at Weasley whenever the boy was stupid enough to even glance his way. He had always excelled in potion making and brewing. Hermione had always been able to see that, but as she glanced at him, stirring and adding ingredients she realised how at ease he felt in doing so.

She was the first to leave when the bell rang.

"That nasty little—" she started, stomping through the corridors furiously. She felt faint all of a sudden. She braced herself on the wall with her forearms and waited for nausea to pass. Sweat condensed along the side of her neck and a bright white light flashed and curled along the edges of her eyelids. She had to see Madam Pomfrey; this couldn't go on any longer.

A rush of cool air against her heated cheeks made her open her eyes. She ignored the queasy lurch of her stomach and rubbed her flushed cheeks. She rubbed the heels of her palms into her eyes and sighed.

When she crawled into bed twenty minutes later, she didn't understand the feeling of strange unease washed over her. Her half-kneazle Crookshanks jumped onto her bed and nuzzled her cheek. Hermoine stroked her cat languidly, but not even his soft purring could put her mind at ease. Something was eating at her mind. She didn't understand what there was to be concerned over.

'Is it that time of the month, Miss Granger?'

"That time of the month…" she murmured. "It isn't that time of the month, arseho—" she stopped in mid-sentence. She started to counting days, weeks, months. How long had it been when she'd last had her cycle? She couldn't remember. It had been before Christmas and it was March now. Hermione had never been late before. Not like this…

"Oh my God." she gasped, pressing a hand to her abdomen. "Oh my—"

She sat up, almost falling off the bed. Her stomach lurched and Crookshanks hissed, before hiding under the bed. Her chin quivered and Hermione dashed into the bathroom. The door slammed against the tile-wall. Her reflection glanced back at her. Her breathing was loud and harsh into her own ears and Hermione lifted her shirt, glancing at her bare slightly swollen belly.

She always had baby fat stubbornly clinging to her stomach, her hips and even to her cheeks. She couldn't really tell if her stomach had grown, but her breasts did feel more sensitive. She thought they were more swollen, but she wasn't sure. She was sixteen, her chest should still be developing, but…

She poked her index finger at her right breast and exhaled loudly. They were more sensitive. Poking at her breast again, she felt tears well up in her eyes. They actually hurt.

 _To be continued..._

 **A/N: And Hermine figured it out, but at least she's in love right...**

 **Please leave a comment and let me know what you think.**

 **Harry Potter and its characters do still not belong to me.**


	18. Chapter 17, The Hospital Wing

**A/N: And here is chapter Seventeen** **. Several of you pointed out that pregnancies on Hogwarts (grounds), as Hermione said so herself, are not likely when someone is underage. This is true and no, I'm not counting Hermione** **time turner use in her third year, but I do want people to remember Draco and Hermione were in the Room of Requirement. The room that gives what people need and does often not require the same rules as the rest of the building.**

 **In short: the basic rules which are around the castle are not necessarily around or in the room of requirement, therefore getting impregnated in this room is very well possible...**

 **Please leave a comment^.^**

* * *

 **o.O.o**

* * *

 **Chapter Seventeen, The Hospital Wing**

 _'We cannot solve our problems with the same thinking we used when we created them.' — Albert Einstein_

 **I** t was unseasonably warm. The sky was clear and the sun was high in the sky. Hermione woke with the sun shining brightly into her eyes. After a moment of confusion and hesitation, the memories of last night flooded back to her. It felt like a horrible nightmare and Hermione felt like she wasn't truly awake, but a slight headache and the dormant nausea were reminders that it wasn't.

She came down from her dormitory much later than her friends had ever known her to do. Her hair was an absolute bird-nest and her eyes were red-rimmed. Lavender seemed smug, obviously thinking her being upset had something to do with her. Hermione smiled; if she only could have been so lucky.

"Hermione?" Harry asked, dropping his bag out of his hands. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she whispered, adjusting the straps of her bag and stalked to the portrait hole, without turning back.

She crossed her arms over her upper abdomen and quickened her steps when she heard the portrait hole opened again. Harry Potter had probably wanted to make sure she was okay, but if she talked to Harry right now she would lose all her courage. Her breathing was overly loud in her own ears and with every step she took, it got louder.

The hospital wing was empty. The beds were made and a watery sunlight spilt in through the high windows. The school-matron had her back to her, applying mint balm to a third-year's cheek. Hermione fisted her trembling hand and waited for the third year to move past her, out of the Hospital wing, before clearing her throat.

"Miss Granger?" Madam Pomfrey's greeting held a note of surprise. Hermione wasn't one to visit the medi-witch unless she really needed medical assistance. Hermione thought it was much better to let the immune system deal with threads than take potions. Her parents had always told her that a strong immune system was very important.

"Hello Madam Pomfrey," Hermione greeted back, nervously wringing the hem of her skirt between her trembling fingers.

"Can I help you?" the medi-witch asked tentatively.

Hermione hesitated in the doorway, not quite sure what to say. How did one say what she was about to say?

"You can come in," Madam Pomfrey said slowly, placing a hand on her shoulder — no doubt hoping to comfort the obviously upset girl — and led her to an armchair. "What's wrong, love, you're awfully pale? Do you need me to do some diagnostics?"

"I—" she started; her words faltering before they even reached her mouth.

Madam Pomfrey crouched down in front of her, rubbing soothing circles on the back of her hand and Hermione felt a lone tear slide down her cheek. Her life was over. How was she going to have a baby and raise one? With Malfoy, out of all of the boys, as the father.

She inhaled sharply, swallowing the sob that threatened to spill from her lips and looked the older woman in the eyes. "I've been late." she tried, almost pleased she didn't stutter. "My period, it hasn't come for the last two months."

Hermione watched the gears in Madam Pomfrey's head work. She had no doubt that the woman knew who the father would be and although she smiled warmly at her pupil, Hermione recognised the fear on her face.

"Miss Granger, dear, there are special enchantments on this castle that prevent an underage witch, such as yourself, to fall pregnant," she explained softly. "That same enchantment is even on the grounds, so unless you've been with someone outside of the castle's protective enchantments, there really is no way."

Hermione blinked the new accumulating tears away and shook her head. "I haven't," she whispered, her voice tight. "And yet the room of requirement might still count as not part of the castle anyway."

"Do you remember your last cycle, Miss Granger?"

"I—" Hermione whispered, wringing the hem of her shirt between her fingers and scrunched her eyebrows up in thought. "The last week of November."

"And you're only catching on now?" the woman asked, cocking her head to the side and Hermione felt her cheeks flush darkly. "I would have thought that someone like you—" the school-matron started, but clamped her mouth shut when she noticed Hermione's eyes water.

"I just—" she tried to explain. "Things have been hectic. It just wasn't a priority and I just thought it was stress and when I started to feel sick, well, I didn't immediately make the connection. Mostly because I knew it wasn't possible but—" she swallowed a hiccup and yanked at her bushy hair.

The school matron's face slowly relaxed and Hermione recognised the heavy lines of pity, before helping the girl up and led her to a bed. "Please lay down and lift your shirt a bit," she told Hermione firmly.

Hermione chewed on the inside of her mouth and her breathing faltered when she felt the cold of the diagnostic spell travel through her.

The Medi-witch's gasp was audible in the silent room and Hermione felt more tears accumulate in her eyes. Until now she still had hoped she was wrong. Her fingers twisted the duvet from the bed and her lower lip quivered.

"You— You are pregnant…" Madam Pomfrey whispered in awe. "When was your last cycle?" she asked, stepping back from her and crossing the room, opening one of the cabinets in the back.

Hermione swallowed her sobs. She had done the maths and even if she hadn't there wasn't really any other moment she could have conceived a child.

"My last cycle was at the beginning of November," she whispered, but her voice carried through the room effortlessly. "I— I had sexual intercourse after the Quidditch match of December. It was the only time." she continued, feeling her teardrop leave wet trails along her flushed cheeks. "I don't think we have to guess on the date of conceiving this—"

Madam Pomfrey muttered something while digging through several little vials with various coloured potions. Taking three potions out, she returned to Hermione side.

"I estimate your baby's due date would be late August." Madam Pomfrey explained, with the practised patience of a veteran school-nurse. She stepped closer and put the vials down on the desktop next to the bed. "Normally I would estimate the first day of your last period as a reference, but now we know the exact date so I expect 40 weeks to be a bit too much, dear."

Hermione nodded, pulling her blouse down and rolling over onto her side. Every nerve in her body screamed at her. She wasn't sure what she should do; curl up into a ball and cry? Go back to her dormitories and throw her favourite shampoo through the bathroom? Hermione could already imagine the satisfying sound it would give when it would hit the tile wall.

Sensing the upcoming fit of hysteria, the healer slowly sat down in front of her. "It's okay," the woman whispered soothingly and Hermione hiccuped again; wiping the back of her hand over her cheeks. Waving her wand; a vial of clear liquid flew towards her opened hand and Madam Pomfrey proceeded in pressing the vial of calming draught into Hermione's hands. "Drink this, it's not dangerous for the child."

"Thank you," Hermione muttered, pulling her shirt down again. "What am I going to do?"

"You're are not the first witch who faces childbirth during their years at Hogwarts."

"Bu— I thought…"

"Yes, you're quite right, but some do entertain the basic urges when Hogsmeade's weekend comes around."

"I see," Hermione whispered before a deep frown etched between her eyebrows. She clutched at her stomach, while her other hand held tightly to the edge of the bed. "Oh my God, what am I going to do?"

"Accidents do happen, Miss Granger, and I realise the situation is far from ideal, but there are resources available if you do not wish to continue the pregnancy." Madam Pomfrey explained, "Of course you still have time to at least think about it. Terminating one's pregnancy can be done until the fourth month…"

"I— Aborting it? I don't know if I— I'll have to—"

"You don't need to decide now." the woman shushed softly. "You need to take these potions regularly," she continued, pointing at the phials on the bedside table.

"Okay," she whispered, the calming draught making her feel so empty and cold it made her shiver. She would have to tell him. Whatever she chose, and she didn't really think she could terminate it, she had to tell him. She had to, but she wasn't looking forward to it. Draco Malfoy might have stepped away from his prejudiced believes, but Draco's father had not. Draco's family… she shuddered again.

"These are filled with vitamins, and you need to stick to a healthy diet." the school-matron explained, unrolling a piece of parchment. "You can use this as a food guide. There are certain foods you should avoid. As you may know, you become more vulnerable to food-borne illnesses, because of a change in your immune system. For example avoid raw eggs, raw fish, soft cheese and so on. Do read this list, whatever you decide you should try to live healthily."

"Okay," she mumbled.

"Of course we need to inform Mr Malfoy as well as your and his parents." Madam Pomfrey muttered, already massaging her aching temples. "Not to mention Headmaster Dumbledore. Merlin, I'm not looking forward to all these conversations."

 _'No!'_

"Madam Pomfrey, you can't!" Hermione cried scandalised. "Please don't, I don't want anyone to know!"

"Sweetheart, I have to!" Madam Pomfrey answered, "It's protocol to inform the headmaster when something like this occurs. And of course, we have to inform your parents and Mister Malfoy's. You're both underaged."

"I want to tell him myself, please!"

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger, I really am, but I can't steer away from the protocol."

Hermione wheezed softly. A chill of terror ran through her at the thought of Lucius Bloody Malfoy learning about his half-blood grandchild. She didn't even want to know what the aligned Death Eater would do to her if he knew.

"No, they can't know," she whispered, before whipping her wand out with practised ease and trained it on the mediwitch. Madam Pomfrey's eyes widened almost comically, but before she could retaliate, she whispered the words of her intended spell: " _Obliviate_!"

Madam Pomfrey's eyes grew owlishly, cloudy and large, and Hermione exhaled when the lively light returned to her eyes. "Oh, Miss Granger," she exclaimed, her eyebrows scrunching together. "What— Why are you here?"

"You were looking for sleeping-draught, Ma'am."

"Oh," Madam Pomfrey muttered absentmindedly. "I see, I'm so forgetful lately."

Half an hour later, Hermione Granger slowly left the hospital wing. Students were up and about and she listened absentmindedly to the harsh clack of shoes against the checkered marble floor. Her fingers picked nervously at a loose threat into her jumper.

Piercing grey eyes stared at her from through the masses of students. She needed to speak to him, and as she quickened her step she noticed his Quidditch uniform. He was about to go to practice and she couldn't… Not now…

Hermione returned back to the blissfully empty dorm room, hid the vials into her school trunk, below her favourite beaded bag, and went down to the Common room. She settled herself into an armchair facing one of the large windows. Outside the sun was shining bright and the sky was bright blue, not a cloud in sight. Not even the beautiful weather was lifting her spirits. Not even watching her boyfriend manoeuvre his broom lifted her spirits. She was pregnant, and she couldn't do anything about it.

Why was talking to Draco so hard? She was a Gryffindor. She had solved riddles, helped an inmate escape, fought Dementors, fought— well ran away from— a Werewolf. She had done so many courageous things, she'd even established the DA meetings, but this…  
There were so many things she had to discuss with the boy if she'd ever pluck up the courage. If she didn't, she either had to disappear with the child (which was such a cowardly move) or give it up for adoption. She didn't fancy either option.

o.O.o

It had been four days since she'd found out she was pregnant. She thought long and hard about aborting it, but she couldn't. She just couldn't do that to her own flesh and blood. She supposed a termination would solve everything. Draco wouldn't have to deal with a half-blood legacy and although he'd told her he liked her, she knew she couldn't ask him to choose between her and his family.

That wouldn't be fair.

But on the other side, it was his child too. He deserved to know. Have a say in it. She had already checked out all the books regarding pregnancy in the library. Madam Pince had eyed her strangely and she'd just shrugged — 'Mum wants another child, there's a fair chance that one would be magical too'.

She had to tell Draco. He was starting to catch on, but every time, when she was about to tell him, she choked on her own words and just couldn't continue. He knew something was wrong, just as Harry and Ron knew. She'd almost told him, but in the end, she couldn't.

o.O.o

Steam had filled the bathroom and Draco sighed. The water beat over his head in steamy rivulets. He closed his eyes as the water ran over his skin and leaned against the cool tiles of the wall. The muscles in his calves ached. He was tired and his head ached. Flying had always been one of his more favourite things to do, but lately everyone was on edge.

He sighed, running his fingers through his hair until he was satisfied it was thoroughly clean. Vapor had turned his reflection into a strange colourful shape as Draco stepped out of the shower, shaking his head as if to clear his mind from unwanted images. His hair was plastered to his face and blinked the stray droplets from his eyelashes. A large part of his focus was on his upcoming Quidditch match to Ravenclaw, and he yawned. Water dripped down his chin and coursed past his collarbone. He was so tired.

He cast a fleeting glance into the mirror, before putting on some trousers and a crisp white blouse. Water from his hair soaked into the collar of his blouse and he slowly started down the circular stairs.

Theodore fell into step with him. He was looking rather pale and sick and Draco wondered what had happened. When he noticed Pansy blowing him a kiss — from which the other boy turned even paler — Draco almost laughed.

"She's still intent on having your inheritance at her disposal?"

"She is stalking me!" Theo whispered. "I have half the mind to follow your example and attach myself to a Mudblood as well."

"Theo…"

"Don't start on me, until recently you've been calling them just like that," the other boy huffed and Draco nervously rolled his shoulders.

Blaise settled on his other side, having a silent _staring_ conversation with Ginevra Weasley. She turned red, smirked and waved her hands as if she was actually sitting in front of him and Draco furrowed his eyebrows.

"I don't get the relation the two of you have."

"Really," Blaise answered, "Nothing much to understand…"

"You are strangely silent about your escapades with the girl," Draco remarked.

The stars above, bright and gold, shone down onto their heads. The candles levitating in the air burned merrily. Hermione was practically staring holes into him and he frowned. Her dark hair was matted to the side of her face and her eyes owlishly huge with fright and worry. He smiled hesitantly at her, but she didn't smile back.

"She's staring at you. Again…" Pansy told him, and Draco raised one eyebrow.

He leaned his goblet of pumpkin juice against his leg. "Yes, I can tell."

"You're not still hanging with her, are you?" she sniffed disdainfully, crossing her arms over her chest. Theodore Nott subtly tried to move away from her, but she cut his escape route short by leaning her head on his shoulder.

"Blood-traitor," Greg said, cracking his knuckles.

"That would be an unwise move." Draco coldly replied, twirling his wand through his long fingers. "I have been practising."

Greg eyed his wand worriedly before turning to his food.

"Well, I think it is distasteful." Pansy sniffed, sipping her cup of tea. Draco ignored her comment and glanced back at Hermione again. She was staring at him, hardly eating anything, hardly blinking and he felt slightly faint.

 _'Why was she staring at him like that?'_

"I'm going for a walk," he announced when Hermione beckoned him, not so subtly when she left the Great Hall.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, already a headache starting and followed her out of the Hall. She was neurotically wringing her hands together and his frown grew when she went out onto the grounds.

"What's wrong with you?" Draco asked, when she stopped at the edge of the lake. The sun had almost completely gone down. Dimmed rays made her hair glow a strange auburn and he felt the muscles in his back tense.

She had been distant, nervous, strange the last few days. He hadn't been able to lay a finger on it and if he'd been honest, he hadn't been that curious to find out what was wrong. He'd learned accidentally from Pansy that every girl dealt with their monthly problems differently. He inwardly shuddered; it must be hard being a girl.

"I—" she started and he noticed her shoulders jerk.

"What happened?" he asked slowly, taking the last few steps that separated them, and placed both hands on her shoulders. "Why are you upset?"

 _'Please don't be one of those girls who discusses her menstruation problems with the guys around her, boyfriend or not…'_

"I'm not upset," she started uncomfortably, leaning her head back against his chest. He didn't think she even realised she did so and he wrapped an arm around her middle, feeling her steady heartbeat as he did so.

"You look the part," he told her.

"Hm?"

"Upset that is," he explained, trying to peek at her face. She had her eyes squeezed shut and her teeth lodged into her lower lip.

"You're going to hate me," she whispered, voice muffled and he practically sensed the tears that would come. Whatever it was, she thought their week-old relationship, which he would admit was still shaky, would collapse under it. Although she seemed to be genuinely in love with him, she was also cautious around him, as if everything and anything she did would set him off.

Well, he was going to prove her wrong. She wasn't going to set him off. He had stepped over his anger when she made Potter do that interview, didn't he?

"I'm not," he said, rather proud of the conviction in his voice.

She heaved a sob, before turning in his arms; caramel-coloured eyes seeking out his grey-blue. "I'm pregnant," she whispered, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed.

Draco blinked and when his vision didn't change, he blinked again. He started to feel light-headed. "What?"

He didn't understand. No, he did understand what pregnancy meant, or at least, he somewhat understood the implications it had for his foreseeable future, but he didn't understand why she would think he would hate her for it. Unless…

He'd seen the Weasel hanging around her. Hell, hadn't everyone see him ditch Lavender Brown — cruelly even by Pansy's standards and that was saying something — in the middle of the Entrance hall. Had Hermione been shagging him? They had restarted their friendship without even a hitch and Draco felt indeed the beginnings of anger stir into his stomach. His hands fell away from her and she heaved a sob.

"You mean you and Weasley—" he started, jealously snaking through him like an illness. He knew he had no real right to be jealous, after all, they hadn't been involved until a week ago. "Is that why you thought I would be angry? Because you're right…"

"I really didn't think someone could be this dense." she snapped, aggressively swiping the back of her hand over her tear-filled eyes. "I've never slept with anyone, but you! Whose else could it be?"

"Excuse me?"

"I'm pregnant," she whispered again, her eyes widening even more as if she hadn't really believed it until she told him out loud, "with your child."

He opened and closed his mouth. It didn't happen often that he was without something to say…

 _To be continued…_

* * *

 **A/N: I love dramas. I normally like a bit of action too, but dramas are the second best thing to me. I suppose that is because you get an insight into someone else's life and think; 'well at least I didn't fuck up like that…'**

 **Or perhaps that is what I think so now and then when I watch one. Either way, I enjoyed this chapter. Ever since I started this story I didn't know how to include this — yes, for once I had it all planned out —, but that problem solved itself when I started to include Hermione's POV more and more. It's much easier to write Hermione than Ginny. I suppose I have more affinity with her…**

 **Harry Potter does not belong to me, but to J.K. Rowling**


	19. Chapter 18, the cat is out of the bag

**A/N: And here is: chapter eighteen! Thank you for all your wonderful reviews. I will respond to all of you (who commented with an account), but for now I want you all know how happy they make me.**

* * *

 **o.O.o**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Eighteen, The Cat is out the Bag**_

 _'The only thing we have to fear is irrational fear itself' — Franklin Roosevelt_

 **H** e was seated behind a desk, leaning heavily on his elbows. It had taken her a long time to find him. And Hermione would probably still be looking if she hadn't borrowed Harry's map and found him there. She scanned over the crowd, looking for the hidden room, behind the tapestry. She hadn't even known there was a hidden room on the fourth floor, and felt slightly stupid when several students gave her odd looks when she was petting the tapestry.

Her stomach plummeted when she found him. She slowly made her way up to the table, lower lip white from the pressure she put onto with her central incisors, and face flushed with nerves. Perhaps, when Ron had interrupted their conversations outside on the grounds, she should have left him well alone. He obviously needed time…

She shook her head. They didn't have all that much time. And she desperately needed someone to talk to.

"Draco?"

He didn't respond. Draco Malfoy just glanced at an imaginary spot opposite of him. She slowly sat down on the high stool next to his desk and cleared her throat.

"Draco?" she started softly. "Are you—" she continued, but didn't know how to finish. Asking if he was all right? He obviously wasn't and she could understand. When she just found out she was pregnant she had a full-blown panic attack.

He smirked and it did funny things to her insides. "I never expected this." He admitted. He glanced at her through the corners of his eyes. His smirk fell a bit. "When I came here, I read the whole book of Hogwarts a History, it was what my father expected and I wanted to know what I could expect." he told her and Hermione felt her stomach plummet even more.

She had done the exact same. She wondered, if the rivalry and the prejudice hadn't been ruling over them from day one, would they have been… friends?

"It isn't supposed to be possible," he continued and Hermione nodded.

"No it isn't,"

"Then how is this possible?" he snapped, leaning his elbows on the table. "How did we defy spells that are ancient while others have not?"

"I don't know I—"

"Because we've never slept together outside of Hogwarts!"

"I know!" she exclaimed. "But the room of requirements…"

He closed his eyes and rubbed the heels of his palms together. "The room of requirements might defy such rules, because it gives you what you need… I don't see how that defies the basic protections against pregnancies."

"It could, you know work for biological needs as well. Not just for what you think you need." Hermione explained. It was the only way. If that wasn't then the Headmaster himself would have to be involved. He was the only one who could change the wards on the premises. She couldn't think of Dumbledore doing something like that. What could he possibly gain…

"Unless that old Goat—"

"Draco!"

"You must have thought about it, Hermione." he snapped. "You can't be naive about this."

"Than he would have known about the drugged alcohol beforehand."

"Not necessarily," he retaliated, without even blinking an eyelash. "Sperm cells are known to survive in the uterus for what? 72 hours?"

"Yes, well, I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you." Hermione muttered, feeling her face heat up. Draco seemed to just realise what he'd said and turned red as well.

"Well, it's true…" he mumbled.

They fell silent, Hermione slowly leaned against the wall. She didn't want to have the unwanted thought of Dumbledore being involved. Then again, he hadn't done anything to find the ones responsible for the drugged alcohol. Biased, just as Draco had said, perhaps, but concocting for his students to have a child?

"My parents." Draco whispered. "I suppose it's a small miracle my parents don't know about this yet, pregnancy shouldn't have been a possibility. Unless…"

He didn't expand on that, and Hermione instinctively felt her hands curl around her slightly swollen belly. She noticed the difference, but she knew others could not. "I know," she whispered. "I know, I've checked, it isn't possible, yet it is. I've double-checked and went to Madam Pomfrey."

"So it's only a matter of time, before my parents will be told." he asked, before dropping his head onto the wooden surface of the desk. "I'm a death man."

Hermione noticed the red welts around his knuckles and looked around the room for the first time. Wallpaper was peeling of the wall and three chairs had been smashed. It seemed he hadn't been as calm before as he was now. She could almost feel the anger radiate off him now.

"What if that's the whole plan?" he whispered to himself and Hermione slowly, hesitantly reached out. Touching his shoulder with trembling fingers.

"I've obliviated her." Hermione admitted softly.

Malfoy's head shot up and glanced at her as if she'd grown a second head. "Come again?"

"I had to," she defended. "She was going to tell your father."

Malfoy shuddered. "Yeah, that would go over well." he muttered, before his eyebrows rose again. "But then you obliviated her? She's a teacher. Well, no, she's not a teacher. But she is a nurse."

"Yes, well, I needed to tell you first, didn't I?"

He laughed. It sounded hollow and fake, and loud and he exhaled loudly. His father was going to kill her, disown him, or kill him to. He couldn't be sure, especially not with the Dark Lord back. He shivered again.

"I know it's bad." she whispered, and he laughed again, no real humour into his voice. She glanced back at him, her eyes large and Draco shook his head.

"You figure?" he asked and Hermione shuffled where she stood.

"This isn't just my fault!" she huffed angrily. "I didn't do this alone!"

"I know that!" Draco snapped. "But fuck, Hermione, what do you want me to do? I— I'm not ready, I don't…"

"Do you even understands what this means?" Hermione asked annoyed, "Are you even vaguely aware what this means?"

"Oh," he snapped sarcastically. "Right, of course, it's some kind of mystery isn't it, but it mostly results in offspring."

"Don't play with me!" she cried, tears starting into her eyes. She stared at her toes and Draco blew a strand of hair out of his face. "Don't turn your sarcastic snide remarks on me! Do you think that I am ready? That I planned for this?"

"Yes, well," he started, but she shook her head.

"We have to think about this!" she cried. "We have to think about something to do! You cannot let me decide this alone!"

' _You cannot leave me alone…_ ' hung silently between them and Draco's breathing slowly evened.

He brushed a hand against her chin, slowly, gently tilting her head up, to look at him. She had bitten down onto her lower lip; a small trail of blood running down her chin.

"I'm not going to let you do this alone," he muttered, and she felt her heart swell. "I'm not, but we cannot stay here!"

"I don't—"

"If my parents find out, no matter what Dumbledore thinks, or how much he hoped he could use a blood relative against them, heads will roll…"

o.O.o

Draco Malfoy wasn't sure how he was going to do this. He was going to be a father in less than six months. How was he going to be one, when he could hardly take care of himself, let alone taking care after such a small child? Draco closed his eyes and rubbed his aching temple. Hermione was leaning her cheek against his chest. He was acutely aware she might be able to hear his fast irregular beating heart.

More than anything he wished he could speak to his mother. She would know what to do. Although, she couldn't be happy about this, and she was a Black, which made this all even worse, but she loved him.

She would accept it. Or not. Draco didn't know. Telling his parents, telling anyone, would probably just endanger them. He couldn't do that. If the Dark lord figured out he'd impregnated Harry Potter's Muggle-born best friend, he would probably want to use his offspring as leverage.

Hermione Granger, whom he had hated only just a year ago, exhaled loudly, her breath fanning over the base of his neck and he unconsciously tightened his hold onto her.

Their tentative truce, their sweet and innocent relationship, was under serious pressure. But more than anything, he wanted to know his first child. He would not be like _his_ father. He wouldn't be absent most of the time and when he was actually there buying his child off. He wanted to do better. He needed to do better.

"I'm not sure what to say." he whispered. She let out a dry wheeze of laughter and leaned his chin onto the top of her head.

Hermione nodded, he felt her nose brush against his collar bone when she nodded her head. He slowly leaned back, glancing down into her face. Big expressive brown eyes stared back at him. She looked scared and Draco felt a lump form in his throat. "I'm not going to run," he whispered and she searched his face in earnest.

"You're not?" she whispered, licking her lips tentatively.

Draco might not have wanted to become a father, especially not while still a teenager, but he would try. Draco thought about his own father. When he had been a child, he wasn't much around and if he was he barely showed Draco any affection. Draco wasn't stupid. He knew his father couldn't really help it. Albraxes Malfoy hadn't been a very affectionate father (and that was a big understatement), and his father just didn't know how to give affection to anyone else. The only one who had been willing to show affection was his mother.

"No," he whispered, "I'm not, but _we_ are."

"What?"

Draco thought of his father again. If he were to find out he had impregnated a Muggle-born witch, he would not react well. Chances were, he would react worse then the Dark Lord would, and Draco shuddered at the thought. If his father ever found out about his _indiscretions_ , he would hunt them down. Draco had no illusions his father would ever allow a Half-blood being born in the Malfoy-line.

"My father," Draco whispered. "When I told you our relationship couldn't be public, well I was serious. Just think about it, Hermione. If our relationship had to remain a secret, how do you think my father would react if he ever found out about you—"

Especially with the Dark Lord around, his father would even be more ruthless. He wouldn't have a choice. The son of a Death Eater would be made an example… Draco just knew.

"That would be bad, wouldn't it?" Hermione whispered, her hands automatically cradling her stomach. The obvious signs of pregnancy weren't there yet, but Draco had noticed her unusual eating pattern and her sudden love for anything sweet.

Draco ran a nervous hand through his hair. "I'm nog going to let anyone hurt you."

She looked at him, eyes huge and mouth opened agape. "How?" she gasped, panic starting to overcome her. "Where are we supposed to go?"

"I don't know," he whispered back, sitting her down onto one of the chairs which had survived his fury. She kept a firm grip on his wrist and he felt slightly annoyed she thought he was going to run. Straddling his own chair, he settled down in front of her. "We obviously can't go to my parents. Hell, that would be suicide." he said, breathing in slowly. He should have smashed a few more tables to regain his control.

"My parents—" she started suddenly, and Draco frowned, had she not thought about what her parents would say?

"Wouldn't your parents—"

"No," she whispered, and new tears welled into her eyes. "I didn't even think about them. It didn't even occur to me that I would have to tell them. They— They're going to have an aneurysm." she continued and Draco felt his eyebrows knit together.

She either noticed his expression or just knew he would misunderstand and shook her head. "Not literally, but they won't be happy. And after second year they really aren't Dumbledore's biggest fan. I think they would want me to terminate it."

"You think?" he asked.

"We've once had this conversation." Hermione admitted and Draco felt his cheeks grow hot. If this was the conversation he thought it was, than he really didn't want to know. "When I dated Victor Krum—"

"Right, Krum—"

"Malfoy!" she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest, her panic attack seemingly forgotten.

"Fine," he muttered, "do go ahead."

"Well, we had a discussion. You know about contraceptives and well, obviously it wasn't needed, but they're my parents and they worried…"

"And then they told you point blank, that if you got yourself knocked-up, they would want you to terminate it."

"Well, not like that…"

"Do you want to terminate it."

She looked slightly ill when he asked that. Her fingers slowly trailed over her stomach and after a minute of a silence that was more pressure than awkwardness, she shook her head.

"I can't," she whispered. "I really can't…"

"Than you have to ask." he said and she frowned. "Your parents, while mine are not an option, you should at least try. I will admit, I don't fancy living with Muggles, but—

 _When my father finds out, and find out he will, He'll string my insides out onto our ancient dining table…_

She nodded slowly. Her fingers spasming around his wrist, when, suddenly, her eyes grew big. "Do you want me to abort it?" he noticed the accusing tone in her voice and he sighed.

"I would never do that to my own child," he answered, not understanding how anyone could kill their own offspring. He wondered if that was the situation his disowned aunt had been facing, when she was only eighteen and pregnant from a Muggle-born. He had never seen her, but he knew his grandmother had burned her face from the family tapestry. With a heavy heart he wondered if his mother would burn his face of the family tapestry as well.

Despite all of his shortcomings — even he would admit he had them — he could never abort his own child. Even if Hermione had wanted to terminate the pregnancy, there was no way he would agree to it. He might not possess parenting abilities to write home about, but killing his own child was simply unthinkable. He wondered if he was being hypocritical. It surely had never bothered him before, but this was somehow different. This was real…

The situation didn't become better. Hermione had been right about her parents. When she travelled home, during a Hogsmeade weekend, she broke the news of her pregnancy. She had been smart enough to keep the name of the father from them, but still her parents were furious. She'd come to him crying, clutching a bruised cheek. Initially, he'd thought one of her parents had lost his temper, but, hiccuping and rubbing her hands against her puffy red eyes, she swore she had just fell into the doorjamb and that none of her parents had even laid a finger on her.

"We need help, Draco…" Hermione whispered. "I don't know what to do anymore."

"Not Dumbledore." Draco retorted. "He will have a catch."

"Then who?" she snapped, "My parents aren't going to help us, yours cannot know, who's left?"

"I don't know— Isn't there anyone you trust?"

"Mrs and Mr Weasley—" Hermione started, before shaking her head, "I don't know…" she mumbled, before glaring at him. "Isn't there anyone _you_ trust?"

"No," he muttered, and he knew she wasn't sure if he meant the no on trusting someone or staying with Mr and Mrs Weasley. "My friends all have parents who at te very least favour the Dark Lord's approach. Going to them would mean killing our child…"

Hermione swallowed and heaved an uneven breath. "My parents…" and she shook her head. "There has to be someone!" she started, determination shining in her large amber eyes.

"We need somewhere to stay." Draco deadpanned. "As long as I'm underaged I can't take the inheritance I get from my grandfather. I won't be able to acces my account at Gringotts. I mean, it's rather measly in comparison to what I would inherit off my father, but it could get us settled."

Hermione's eyes widened. "I have my trust fund." she explained softly. "In the Muggle world things are slightly different. You only become an adult at eighteen, but from sixteen you already have some mental competence."

"—What?"

"I don't have to be eighteen to access the money that's on my name, Draco." she explained, starting ruffle through her stuff hidden into her beaded bag. "It must be here, I've been looking through it just yesterday." she mumbled.

"Here it is," she told him, flattening a piece of paper onto her knee. "It's not exceptionally, but it is enough to I don't know take the train or even buy tickets to another country, but we still need somewhere to stay."

Draco peeked at the paper and worried onto his lower lip. She had twenty-five thousand pounds on her trust Fund, and although he did't think that was all that much, he supposed it was indeed enough to run.

"What about Sirius?" she suddenly whispered, eyes growing wide and smile broadening.

"Sirius?" Draco echoed. "Sirius, as in _Black_?"

"Yes,"

"You've got to be kidding me,"

"He would understand." she told him matter-of-factly. "Just, how to contact him. I can't just barge in on him, but well, we could contact him with floo powder."

"You're insane,"

"You like me for it." she shot back and with a snort that's nothing gentlemanlike he smirked. Perhaps he did. She slowly closed in on him, her hands cupping the strangely delicate bones in his jaw and pressed her lips against his. He moved one of his hands up her back, trailing his fingers down the center of his spine and he felt her shiver. He thought he could get used to this.

She broke away from him, panting heavily. Her face flushed and her lips turned into a sated lopsided grin. "One thing though,"

"What?" he asked absentmindedly, pushing his fringe out of his eyes.

"Harry," she muttered breathlessly. "He has to know…"

"What, why?"

"Because Sirius and Harry tell each other everything," Hermione explained, "And don't you think it would be nice if we had another person on our side?"

"No Weasley?"

"Oh my God, no!" she exclaimed shaking her head vehemently, "No way, he will just get upset again."

"Oh, and Potter won't get upset, you reckon?" he asked her sarcastically, following her into the haunted bathroom on the second floor. The tiles were slippery wet and the cubicles were blissfully empty. She sat down onto a toilet, legs crossed at the ankles and hands clasped together. Draco leans back against the beautifully decorated sink.

"He might get upset," she conceded and Draco crossed his arms over his chest.

"Might?"

"We aren't really to blame," she said. "I'm sure I can make him understand that."

"If you say so,"

o.O.o

Pansy Parkinson knew something was going on. People might think she was shallow, but she definitely wasn't stupid. Pulling at her green robes, she slowly pushed a lock of dark shiny hair behind her ear. Theodore had managed to hide from her, she knew he wasn't comfortable with the attention she showered him with. She even knew he was a poof. How she'd come to sleep with him was beyond her. He obviously didn't like girls — 'Hello, he ignored _her!' —,_ but Pansy didn't care. The only reason she kept hanging around the boy was to ensure Draco's jealousy.

The problem: it _didn't_ ensure Draco's jealousy. If anything, Draco seemed only more serious on pursuing the stuck-up Mudblood. How dare he do that?

Pansy grumbled under her breath and slumped down onto a stone bench. The weather was unseasonably nice and although she was in a bad mood, she decided to enjoy it while it lasted. Professor Umbridge — Slytherin's soul she despised that woman — had given them off for the afternoon.

Being part of the Inquisitorial squad was hardly as entertaining as she had initially thought. Without Draco, there was hardly anything to was far better in needling people. He knew what to say, and how to say it. He knew how to rub salt in the wounds and she missed him. She knew he had never been to pleased about her following him around. He had always been more fond of Daphne Greengrass, than about her.

Pansy blew at a lock of dark hair and glanced at the lake. Warm rays of sunlight were gently streaming down onto her forehead and Pansy slowly let her head drop back. She still had no idea who had been responsible for the whole firewhisky disaster. Her inside-woman, Ginny Weasley, had been avoiding her. Which wasn't all that surprising, but it made Pansy suspicious. There were only a few logical reasons why the fiery redhead would back off. One, it was someone she knew and cared about, two it was someone of her family. Normally Pansy would use the words 'care for' and 'family' in one sentence, but practically everyone knew she and her stupid brother Ronald Weasley were at odds.

She didn't really see Ronald Weasley drug an entire house… Yes he was spiteful enough to do it, but he just lacked the brains, so that left her twin brothers. Pansy had been watching. Ginny hadn't been acting very warm towards them, but that was hardly enough evidence. She needed proof. She needed hard evidence, and when she got that, they would go down…

o.O.o

March blurred into April and the OWL's gradually approached. Her brother and his friends slowly started to feel pressured to pass them and Ginny found it more easy to avoid Hermione and Pansy Parkinson — she'd seen the dark-haired Slytherin skulk around — while they were worried about their upcoming exams.

Ginny leaned forward on her Comet and took after the tiny gold ball. Its tiny wings fluttering along frantically right in front of her, and Ginny stretched her arm out, her fingers itching to curl around the bobbling little ball.

Part of her wanted to tell Pansy. To explain what had happened and see how she sinks her fangs into them. She wants to so badly, but to so, she would have to betray them and she couldn't. Not really.

Without warning the Snitch cut a sharp right turn and took off on a different course. Ginny squeaked, not able to avoid the balustrade and her shoulder slammed into the wooden structure. Her breath came out in a gush of warm air and her eyebrows knitted together as pain shot up her arm.

She abruptly plummeted down and she barely caught herself, before dropping down onto the grass.

Ginny shifted her broomstick against her shoulder and moved up the stairway. Her footsteps echoed off the stone walls and her long hair hung in front of her face in tangled locks. Her forehead was damp with sweat and her cheeks flushed.

Although she felt bad for Harry, she absolutely loved flying. She enjoyed lunging down and spinning around in midair. Ginny blew a lock of hair out of her face, and stepped through the portrait hole. Her fingers were tingling from the blow to her arm and she tiredly rubbed at her tired eyes.

Fred and George were sitting closely together and as anger coursed through her body, she stomped towards them. Her broom clanged against the floor as she nudged Fred with her foot.

Both boys looked up sharply immediately starting to put their dosed candy away into their bag. "What is it, Gin."

"I will allow you this warning because you both are my brothers, but that's the only break I'm going to give you," Ginny said and both boys raised their eyebrows.

"What are you talking about?" George demanded and Ginny snorted.

"Pansy Parkinson is about to find out who was the one who was behind the dosed whisky…"

Both boys blanched. "Are you going to—"

Ginny glared at them. "No, revenge is a dish you should serve cold," she told them. Several students glanced at her as she crossed the room and ascended the stairs towards the fourth-year dorm room. Yes, revenge was a dish best served cold…

 _To be continued…_

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 **A/N: I don't really know what a normal sum of money is int a trust Fund, but Hermione's parents are both dentists, so she's definitely not poor. It seems to me that two dentists are just the kind of people who would make sure their child had a Trust Fund, and would have access to it, because a bloody war was brewing at the horizon or just in case something happened to them. I'm sure they wouldn't mean for Hermione to go and run away from it, but I suppose they would want her to have a chance to go to university.**

 **Anyway let me know what you think!**

 **This chapter will be checked on grammatical errors during the next few days, but if you do see something, do let me know!**

 **Harry Potter does not belong to me, but to J.K. Rowling.**


	20. Chapter 19, Truth nothing but the truth

**A/N: Is it true? Yes, it is. Another update. And exactly as I planned (only like five weeks late, no biggie) and I hope everyone will enjoy this one. Next chapter is almost finished, so I expect I will be able to update next Wednesday.**

 **Let me know what you all think! I'm really glad with all your comments!**

 **Harry Potter does not belong to me, obviously, but to J.K. Rowling.**

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 **o.O.o**

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 _ **Chapter Nineteen,The truth and nothing but the whole truth**_

 _'There's a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in — Leonard Cohen'_

 **T** he shopping alley was crowded with students and Ginny Weasley had to crane her neck to see if she was going the right way. Her copper-red-hair fell in a tousled mess down to the middle of her back and with the recent cold her freckles stood out against her pale skin like scars. Even so, she knew she was considered kind of pretty with bright, vibrant brown eyes and a delicacy to her features. She had been proud to inherit grandmother's sleek beauty and although she was certainly not as beautiful as grandmother had been, she'd been able to have whoever she wanted. Except for Harry, Harry seemed blissfully unaware of the opposite sex.

It didn't matter. She'd taken Hermione's advice and started dating. She'd ignored the whispers of her roommates, who'd mused how she'd exactly gotten Cormac to take her out on a date and smiled when Dean Thomas spluttered out an excuse to see her in the library. Things had been going well. They had been going _so_ well—

The air smelled thickly of sun-warmed bark and the sweet scent of candy met her nostrils. With practised ease, she pushed her red hair out of her face and pushed her hands into the pockets of her coat. Things had been going well, until—

Blaise Zabini, who's tall and slender and good-looking in a haughty, arrogant way. His shiny black hair was cropped short and his sensuous mouth is decorated with full lips. She'd never given him the time of day.

She stood on her tiptoes to scan the crowd, noticing her current obsession (what else could she call the nervous flush that spread across her face), a few metres ahead of her, surrounded by his friends. She had always liked green eyes, but she'd realised from all Blaise's masculine beauty, she liked his deep, dark eyes the best.

Ginny sighed, her cheeks had warmed considerably, and she toyed with the clasp of her bag. She passed The Three Broomsticks, the warm scent of Butterbeer wafting towards her nose and she inhaled slowly. With a small smile she peered into the inn through the dirty window and the clasp slipped from her fingers and her eyes widened.

Hermione was habituating a table near the window, together with Harry Potter and Luna Lovegood. That in itself wasn't surprising, but her eyes widened even more when she recognised Rita Skeeter. She peered at the table with wide eyes and shook her head as if the shaking could erase the image from her eyes. Yet, it remained the same. Hermione was slightly pale and suddenly looked towards the window. For some reason, Ginny didn't really think Hermione wanted Ginny to be there right now.

She hurried along the street and looked out for Blaise again. She had promised to spend the day with him. They'd even agreed on having tea at Madam Puddifoot's, which she knew he only did because she wanted to. Blaise's mother was neutral in the war against He-Who-Should-Not-be-Named. They did agree with the blood superiority, but they did not want to risk getting involved with the war. And with doing the dirty as Malfoy called it when he returned early from Quidditch practice and caught them in the act — she hadn't known a face as pale as his, could become that red so quickly —, Blaise was bound to change his mind.

She peered at her wristwatch, quickened her place when she passed the candy shop — she only had so much of an allowance and whenever she visited Honeyducks her money evaporated like snow to the sun — and wrapped her scarf tightly around her neck. She seemed to be constantly in need of something around her neck as Blaise liked to leave marks on her. You would think you'd be able to learn a concealment charm after the number of love bites she'd had. When she'd been dating her last boyfriend, they had fooled around a bit, but never had they tried anything other than snogging.

Blaise Zabini—

The Italian boy who'd never given her as much as a second glance had invited her to spend the night.

And she did (repeatedly) spend the night — and a large part of the day — with him. She still remembered how she had sneaked herself into the Slytherin Common room. After their defeat, they'd been holding a small party — although definitely not small by her standards — and one large table was filled with champagne flutes, a decanter of whiskey and several bottles of Butterbeer. Malfoy had scampered off with one of the bottles of Firewhiskey and suddenly Blaise Zabini pressed a glass of the same fire whiskey in her hand.

She had to be a Gryffindor of course, accepting the glass and chugging it down. It had taken only taken a few more minutes before she had literally jumped him, legs around his waist and hands in his short hair. She'd kissed him until she had to come up for air and several other Slytherin students peered at them with stunned shock. There were several more students behaving weirdly. She should have realised then, that something was wrong. Pansy Parkinson — who everyone knew was enamoured with Draco Malfoy — was feeling Theodore Nott up and Daphne Greengrass was doing an extremely uncomfortable and provocative dance with an older boy Ginny did not know.

Ginny shook her head. As if summoned by some unexplainable power, Zabini stepped up next to her. He must have ditched his friends at Honeyducks if the sweet smell of candy was any kind of indication and smirked.

"Ginerva,"

"Ginny—" she absentmindedly corrected.

"What's the problem?" He asked, his carefree expression falling away.

"Do you have siblings?" She asked and she pushed a lock of copper-red hair out of her face. She couldn't believe she'd never asked him that. He cocked his head to the side and his lips drew back in a tight line.

"Yes,"

His eyebrows rose up and she blew a lock of red hair out of her face. Fred and George are leaning against the cinderblock wall. They're looking at her with something akin to worry and she bit her lip, harshly. "I think I need to tell you something. But not here. Too many people."

"Tonight at eight?" He asked his eyebrows furrowed tightly together. "We could sneak out?"

She felt a surge of nerves run up her spine and she nodded breathlessly. "Okay,"

o.O.o

She was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, a mascara wand pinched between her fingers and her hair pulled up in a too-difficult, decorative braid. She'd practiced on that particular hairstyle for hours and peered at her reflection with drawn eyebrows. He'd gotten her a green velvet dress, that she should have declined for being too expensive, that fitted her like a glove. The kind of green he chose fitted her good as well.

"Weasley?"

Ginny slowly turned to the doorway. Lavender Brown, Hermione's dorm mate, was leaning against the door jam, her lips puckered up in distaste.

"Yes," she asked, an eyebrow rose and her voice sounded aloof (who keeps company with the wolf will learn to howl).

"You're Ron's sister," she told her matter-of-factly and Ginny had to make an effort to not roll her eyes.

"Indeed,"

"He's been acting distant," she whispered and Ginny felt a surge of empathy for the other girl when her lower lip started to tremble. Ron had been an first-class jerk to her, even Ginny could see that.

"I would advise you to give him some space," Ginny decided, drumming her fingers against her lower arms. "My brother doesn't react too well to too much attention."

Her face flushed and Ginny flattened her hands over the hem of her dress. Her hair was still slightly damp from her shower and Lavender whimpered before twirling around and stomping away. Ginny slowly turned her face towards the mirror again and finished applying some make-up.

She pressed her lips together nervously and her fingers curled into fists. She wondered if _he_ would still want to see her if he heard about her brothers. Biting down on her lower lip and dragged the zipper up the curve of her waist and gave her appearance one more look. At least she looked beautiful.

o.O.o

The house was cold and dark. Kreacher huddled into his nest of old blankets, thin fingers curled around Master Regulus' locket. Soft, so softly, not even loud breathing, could be heard as he crossed the room. His shadow loomed over the wall, dust circled around his bare feet. Voices downstairs. Kreacher did not recognise the voices at first. Then his _Master_ said something.

Kreacher slowly descended the stairs, he didn't make much of a sound. The door to the living room was standing ajar and Kreacher noticed his Master Sirius Black was standing in front of the huge fireplace. It was lit and Kreacher understood then where the other voices came from. With the window on his side the dying sunlight filtered into the room falling onto his master.

Kreacher squinted his eyes and watched the two faces in the fireplace. Their usual features difficult to make out, but he would recognise the voice of that disgusting girl anywhere. Sneering disdainfully he looked at the slightly vague projection of The-Boy-Who-Lived's Mudblood.

"Sirius, I didn't know who else to contact." the girl whispered and Kreacher slowly shuffled closer. "My parents were very cross with me, and Draco's parents— well, we don't think they will be very understanding…" she finished awkwardly.

"I'm sorry Hermione I've got difficulties picturing all of this." Sirius Black admitted, scratching at the back of his neck.

"You know how much the _Weasel_ twins— Weasley twins, fine Granger— like to prank people." a boy said. His voice was slightly familiar, but Kreacher couldn't place him.

"Yes, pranking, but Love Potion?" he asked, "That's hardly a prank!"

"We know that," the boy answered, "Yet they still did. I know you don't owe me anything. I know you hate my mother my father, but Hermione thought you could also relate."

"You think I can relate?"

"Can't you Sirius?" the Mudblood asked annoyed, "So you're going to tell me your parents weren't demanding and strict on you? Didn't instil the Anti-Mudblood—"

"Don't use that word!" his master snapped, interrupting the girl in the mid of her sentence, but she seemed relentless.

"Oh shut up," she snapped annoyed, "As I was saying, they instilled the Anti-Mudblood regime into you, just as Draco's parents did to him, so you cannot act all high and mighty and—"

"Why is Mother's House-Elf standing there?" the boy suddenly asked and his Master turned to him. Kreacher knew then who the boy was. Mistress Cissy's son, but why was he with the Mudblood? Was he a Blood-traitor as well?

"Kreacher?" the Mudblood asked and Sirius turned towards him, his face pale and his eyes wide.

" _His_ _Mother's House-Elf_?" he echoed and his lips drew back in a sneer. "What does the boy mean with that?" he snarled.

"Draco—" the Mudblood whimpered. "Please Draco—"

Kreacher clutched at his spindly arms in a vain effort to comfort himself as his Master— Ungrateful Master Sirius— stomped closer.

"Wait, Black!" the boy yelled. "You can work this in your favour!"

Kreacher recognised the futility into such a statement. Ungrateful Master Sirius always had a temper. He was nothing like Master Regulus. Good Master Regulus who always wanted what was best for his pour— pour mistress. Kreacher had been so proud to serve such a fine Young Master…

"You went to Narcissa!" Master Sirius yelled, his face turning a blotchy red and then white.

"Sirius!" the Mudblood yelled, "You cannot— Oh bloody hell, she's waking up, Draco?"

"My pleasure," the boy answered.

"Exactly how did you get near that fireplace?" Sirius asked suddenly, rubbing at the bridge of his nose, before glaring at the House-Elf. "I forbid you to tell anyone about this conversation. No one, do you understand, no one will hear, read or understand anything about this!"

"Sirius!" the Mudblood whined again.

"I'll keep away from him." his Master snapped, holding his hands up. "What about the frog-woman? Won't she know you're using the Fireplace?"

"Not exactly," the Mudblood answered. "We overpowered _Professor_ Umbridge," she explained. "Stunned her and called you."

"I see,"

"We need help, Sirius, I don't know where to go anymore!"

His Master nodded. "I'll help you."

Kreacher sneered, but as his Master put the fire out and turned to him, he felt a twinge of fear run through him. His Master might have been a blood-traitor, he was still a Black. And more importantly, he had the Black temper as well as a loud screaming voice, just like his Mother.

"So you visited my niece, did you?" he asked dangerously, "You want to belong to a real Black, do you?"

Kreacher knew when not to rise to the bait. This was one of these moments. The small creature glanced at the fireplace and swallowed. Downstairs footsteps sounded. Perhaps the disgusting Werewolf could save him from his horrifying fate.

Sunlight filtered through the windows and Draco glanced down at the unconscious form of Delores Umbridge. Hermione pulled back from the fire, coughing loudly, her face turned red. Draco nervously turned Sirius knife between his fingers. They used it to get into Umbridge's office. Harry had been very eager to lend it to them.

"What about her?" he asked pointing his thump at the slumbering form of their professor.

Hermione sniffed haughtily picking at her cuticles before glancing at Draco's face. "We'll have to tamper with her memory, obviously, or else she will remember what happened."

Draco raised an eyebrow. She sounded almost jittery before nodding. "I suppose,"

"You know the incantation?" she asked raising an imperious eyebrow.

"I'm not incompetent, you know." he sniffed and he levelled his wand on the older witch. They watched Umbridge's eyes grow glassy before Hermione knocked her out with s strong sedative spell.

"Time to go," the girl exclaimed and Draco followed her across the room. She pushed the office door open, peeking outside, before slipping away. Draco followed her out, swiftly turning into the corridor dusting off some soot from the fireplace.

"I need to go back to the Common Room and make an important appointment." Hermione decided, running a hand through her wind-blown hair.

"Fine, what do you want me to do with Potter's knife?"

"Keep it," she answered, "he leant it to you."

"He doesn't know what I wanted it for,"

She snorted. "He won't care either. As long as you push Umbridge's buttons, he's all in."

"Take care," he whispered, "of the both of you."

She smiled and she pushed herself up on her tiptoes, pressing her mouth against his. "I will."

He watched her go, her hair swiping over her back and ran a hand through his blond hair, hoping he could remove all the sooth. He had just straightened his collar and started down the corridor when another student came bounding down the stairs.

Harry Potter, clutching his father's invisibility cloak in a tight white fist, stormed through the empty corridors. Not only had Hermione _and_ Ginny missed that afternoon's D.A. meeting, Umbridge's little Inquisitorial squad. He wasn't stupid he knew Hermione was very busy being smart and in love, but he would be pleased if she didn't forget that she was needed.

He stalked through the corridors, his face flushed and his eyes alive angrily. He turned the corner his feet stomped down on the stone floor. He had his eyes on his hands, pushing his invisibility cloak into his schoolbag and slammed face-first Draco Malfoy.

The blond boy could righten himself onto the wall, while Harry stumbled back onto the floor. He looked up.

Draco Malfoy stared back, his right cheek and chin dusted grey from what looked like soot. Malfoy didn't offer him his hand, but he just stared at the messy-haired boy. Due to the lights of the torches, his shadow was filling the space, tall lean and hard edges, as if his shadow were cut from a slab of back marble.

"Potter?"

"Malfoy," Harry shot back, slowly getting to his feet. His breathing was still a bit uneven and he clutched at his heart. Malfoy who had impregnated his best friend. And yet, he could never really blame the blond, because he had not been in control of himself. Draco Malfoy and the shadow of a bruise on his collarbone…

"What have you been doing?" Malfoy asked, looking up over Harry's shoulder when footsteps sounded in the distance. He pushed Sirius knife away when voices reached them and absentmindedly reached up to undo the top button of his shirt.

"You mean you don't know?" Harry asked.

"Merlin, is this about your little duelling club again?" Malfoy asked and Harry felt his hackles rise. He was about to respond, but then Pansy Parkinson, Crabbe and Goyle came around the corner.

"Ah, there you are," she snarled gleefully and Harry bristled again. Malfoy barely acknowledged her and just kept looking at him.

"It is, of course, it is," Malfoy muttered.

Harry glared at him before pushing his Invisibility cloak deep into his bag. The wind whistled through the crack like the mewling of a dying animal. Both Crabbe and Goyle cracked their knuckles and Parkinson laughed, not yet noticing the blond Slytherin.

"Potter?" he asked, voice even. "I expect you to read through the bloody chapter. I have better things to do than listen to you make excuses as to why you couldn't finish your part of the homework… "

"Drakey?"

Pansy Parkinson's eyes grew huge and Harry realised with a shock that the other boy was covering for him, even if he wasn't happy with Malfoy's reasoning.

"Pansy, you know I do harbour it when you use that nickname, don't you?" he asked her cooly and the girl flushed.

"Well, we're here for Potter," she told him matter-of-factly.

"What for?" Malfoy asked cooly and for the first time, Harry was impressed. Draco Malfoy didn't even bat an eyelash. He was covered in soot and his hair was tousled, but he still acted like he owned the halls he walked through.

"He was leading the Duel club tonight," Pansy started smugly and Malfoy raised one eyebrow.

"That's impressive then, considering I was tutoring him," Malfoy said dryly. "I'm pretty sure that I have been doing that for the last three weeks at Thursday afternoon, and yet—" he looked at Harry then, "You still manage to lead a— Dueling club was it— at the same time? Must say, Potter, impressive."

"He was with you?" Pansy demanded

"Hn," Malfoy shrugged, "We'll never do our homework in an abandoned classroom again, though."

Crabbe frowned dumbly, glancing at Parkinson for what Harry suspected were orders. She opened her mouth her eyes flaring alive and her cheeks flushed. "It's not possible. He was there! I know he was—"

"I'm sure Pansy," Malfoy drawled, pushing Harry further down the corridor, "Come on Potter. Why don't you tell me how you lead a Duelling club during your tutoring sessions."

"I hate you," he muttered without real anger and both boys walked away, leaving a fuming Pansy Parkinson and horrified Crabbe and Goyle. They wandered down the short hallway and Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "What were you doing with Hermione?"

"Contacting your Godfather,"

"Right, when will I finally hear what that's all about?"

"When Hermione decides the appointment is done," Malfoy muttered matter-of-factly. Harry rolled his eyes. So he would have to try Hermione. Fine with him.

 _To be continued..._

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 **Let me know what you think. Nothing works better to motivate me.**


	21. Chapter 20, Visages

**A/N: Thank you for all your comments! Enjoy the next chapter!**

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 **o.O.o**

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 **Chapter Twenty, Visages**

 **T** hey sat down onto the hard plastic seats lining the white clean walls. The waiting room was fairly small, with harsh uv-lights coming from lightbulbs in the ceiling. Draco Malfoy, looking entirely uncomfortable into Harry's Muggle clothing, scrunched up his nose. The scent of disinfectant was heavy, poignant in the air, and it made him squeamish.

"Why couldn't we do this in St. Mungo's?" Draco asked again. "I could have altered my looks and no one would have been the wiser."

Hermione rolled her eyes, her eyes searching the poster of woman holding babies and she nervously cradled her stomach. She was by far the youngest (except Draco) in the waiting room and several older woman had bestowed them with curious looks.

"I told you, we can see the child now." she whispered back, flattening a folder onto her lap. He glanced at the folder, to the anatomic explanation of breasts and how the milk production started — which started around the fifth month of pregnancy.

Hermione slowly, subtly, tried to wipe her sweaty hands to her sweatpants. Draco shifted in his seat, fingers absentmindedly tapping against the side of his chair. Under normal circumstances she would have thought his unease was slightly cute, but now it annoyed her. Couldn't he just trust her? The O.W.L's were coming closer and closer, teachers growing nervous and students growing ever more nervous.

Hermione had nearly screamed — she might have screamed — when Hagrid suddenly introduced her and Harry to his full giant Half-brother, Gramp. Harry was planning with Sirius, just as he had promised and told her not to worry about a thing, but she couldn't help worrying.

"What are you thinking about?" Draco asked annoyed and Hermione sighed tiredly.

"For God's sake, Draco!" she whispered, when he glanced angrily at the woman behind the desktop. "I told you this way we can see the child!"

"There is no way you can see the child unless you're planning on giving birth, and I know for a fact, you're not far enough along to give birth to him."

"Him?"

"I just know it's a him!" he muttered back, and Hermione sighed, before dropping the folders in his restless hands.

"Here, why don't you go through these?" she asked, and Draco gritted his teeth together. He glanced at a detailed picture of the birth-way and immediately dropped the folders back in Hermione's lap. Several of the older ladies chuckled at their antics, while one gave them an apologetic look.

' _They must think we're too young…_ '

Draco sat back, pouting slightly and Hermione smiled again. She knew she'd ruffled his feathers by making an ultrasound appointment, but she didn't think the diagnostic spells she had thought herself were enough to ensure the baby's health. She'd planned it all perfectly, aided by the room of requirement they slipped away from the castle and used the floo to arrive in London.  
The woman behind the counter, nails an awful pink, and lips too red, had smiled warmly at them. Tapping her pen against the receptionist's desk, she'd clicked around on her computer — Draco gazed at the computer monitor, his eyebrows disappearing under his hairline — before pointing them to the waiting room.

"When will he come?" Draco asked, while holding a dummy between his thump and index finger. "Do we need this?" he continued, when Hermione only gave him an annoyed empty look.

"No," Hermione answered, "Letting a child use a dummy, or a thump for that matter, leads to malocclusion of the teeth."

"Excuse me?"

"Well the suckling on the dummy or the thump can interfere with the growth of the child. Especially with the teeth; they'll start to stick out, no longer meeting properly when they bite together. Muggles use orthodontic treatment to correct a mall occlusion, but it takes a long time and is often very expensive."

"I see," Draco muttered and Hermione smiled. He obviously didn't, but she had all the time in the world to slowly explain it to him. Or as long as they needed to hide in it. After a few minutes sitting in silence, the receptionist got up from her desk and crossed the room to where they were seated.

"Miss Granger, the doctor is ready for you." she explained, "Please follow me!"

Hermione nodded, gathered her bag and gestured for Draco to come along. They passed through the swinging doors, down a squeaky clean hall, to the room. It was fairy small, with white walls and a greenish ceiling. An examination table stood against the wall with a large machine next to a monitor, which Hermione suspected was the ultrasound machine.  
Draco slowly lowered himself in one of the chairs, and Hermione sat down onto the bed. He turned even more nervous in the new environment and Hermione watched him shuffle in his seat. She was about to snap, when the doctor entered into the room.

"Ah, Miss Granger, may I call you Hermione?" she asked, her face slightly tanned and her hair pulled back in a tight bun. Hermione nodded and the doctor glanced at a still restless sitting Draco and smiled warmly. "The father I suppose,"

Draco nodded quickly, straightening in his seat, while adopting an air of superiority. The woman didn't seem to notice and smiled at Hermione. "All right, this is your first medical examination, isn't it?"

"Yes," Hermione agreed readily, rubbing her slightly swollen abdomen and smiled shyly.

"Good, my name is Doctor Lena Alger, and I will be making the sonogram, today." the woman explained, "How have you been feeling?"

Hermione shrugged, folding her hands together. "I'm fine I suppose. I've got a lot of cravings—"

Draco snorted, "Nothing that has sugar in it, is save for her." he added and Hermione glowered at him. "She's often sick as well." he added helpfully.

Doctor Alger laughed heartily: "That's perfectly normal.

"I don't get sick as often as I used to…"

"Oh Honey, _morning sickness_ is different for every girl. It doesn't necessarily occur in the mornings, and it is different for every girl. Typically these symptoms occur between the fourth and the sixteenth week, but it certainly isn't unheard of for a girl to still have symptoms _after_ the twentieth week of the pregnancy."

"Why does she get sick anyway?" Draco asked and Hermione exhaled tiredly through her nose. Why hadn't he asked her these things before they went to see the doctor?

"We don't really know the cause, but it may be related to changing levels of hormones. Anyway, are you only feeling sick, or are there any other symptoms?"

"No," Hermione shook her head, "only morning sickness."

"That's good, are we excited to see the baby today?" she asked and Draco's eyebrows shot up again. Hermione smiled excitedly and nodded eagerly, before Doctor Alger eased the sixteen-year-old on her back.

"All right, Miss Granger can you lift your shirt up for me and undo your trousers." she told her and Hermione swiftly followed her instructions.

"I don't understand!" Draco finally said. "What are we going to see?"

Doctor Alger laughed, before rubbing special lubricating jelly to Hermione's skin and she shivered. "We use special sound waves to create a visual image of the baby. The special computer then translates the echoing sounds into video images and that way you'll see your baby's shape, its position and its movements."

Draco nodded slowly before pressing a few buttons on the keyboard and the screen turned on with a low buzzing sound. "All right, Draco, right?"

Draco nodded, shifting closer to the monitor and the doctor grinned. He watched thoughtfully as Doctor Alger reached out and flicked the lights off. "With this transducer," she explained, placing a white device onto Hermione's stomach. The woman proceeded to glide it down, the monitor beeped softly and the doctor sighed. "The transducer produces high-frequency sounds waves through Hermione's body and this way we can form— ah, there he is!"

Hermione wheezed softly glancing at the monitor in awe and Draco shifted even closer, his eyebrows drawn together and his lips pursed. "There we have its head." she whispered softly, and Hermione grasped Draco's hand.

The tiny tympanic heartbeat from the ultrasound wand was the most obvious outward sign that a new life was indeed growing inside of her. He glanced at the monitor with a grease between his eyebrows. Hermione smiled, holding onto his hand tight.  
Draco slowly tore his gaze away from the screen and leaned his cheek onto her forehead. They stared into the screen with wide wondrous eyes, while the doctor babbled on about a good heartbeat, a fine size and finally she grinned. "Do you want to know the sex of your baby?"

"You can say that?"

The doctor chuckled again. "We sure can!"

Hermione worried her lower lip while Draco eagerly glanced at the screen. Obviously, she wanted to know the sex of their child, of course she did, but she also wanted to be surprised. The woman was rather amused when they started to argue, but in the end her curiosity won out against any doubt she had.

Chuckling before glancing at the monitor again, she pointed at the child, "You're having a boy."

"So boy clothes," Hermione whispered, already becoming excited and the Doctor smiled amused.

"Do you want the film?" She asked and Hermione nodded. "Well, then the both of you are ready to go."

"Well, that was interesting," Draco decided as they stalked through the spotless corridor, down the stairs and out of the central hall.

"I'd like to visit the harbor," Hermione whispered and Draco wrapped an arm around her waist, leaning his cheek on top of her head. The wind was slightly chilly and the air muggy from a recent rain shower. Yet the harbor was not far. While they moved towards the soft grey water, Hermione explained how her parents had bought a sailboat when she was seven and she'd learned how to sail at age eight.

"It's really nice, you know." She explained, leading him down the harbor. The water was sloshing gently against the boats and Hermione sat down on the jetty near her parents' sailboat. "Dad, loves to sail. If he didn't enjoy his patients as much, he would probably look to make a living on one. A sailboat, I mean."

"I've never been on a ship before." He told her matter-of-factly. She smiled and they sat in comfortable silence. Before making an appointment with the Doctor, she'd taken several Muggle pregnancy tests. Eighty percent had a second pink line and then she decided to make the appointment. She hadn't expected Draco to come along, but without a second thought he'd demanded he would be there.

She hadn't expected him to be this caring.

"You want to? Go on a ship, I mean?"

He smirked his mean-like little smile. "Why not."

She smiled, her cheeks warming up considerably and she led him down the dock and up onto the boat. He stared around over the deck in a way she supposed she had looked the first time she'd touched a broomstick during her first year. She jumped onto his back when he found his balance, because she could and because he offered, looping her arms around his neck and grinning at him. "You're going to like sailing."

"I'm sure," he chuckled, falling back against white leather couch on the deck and she slumped back against him, explaining about the hull, the mast, holding up the sails and the rigging. Her head fell back against his shoulder and they both enjoyed the afternoon together.

"We should do this again," Draco whispered when the sun disappeared behind dark clouds.

Hermione was storing the pillows away in the small closet behind the couch and nodded. "We should."

None of them realised this was one of the last days they would get to enjoy an easy day off…

 _To be continued…_

* * *

 **A/N: Leave a review! Harry Potter and his characters do not belong to me, but to J.K. Rowling.**


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